‘Thank you.—It will pass away.’
His voice was dry and husky,—unlike his usual silvern tones. After an uncomfortable interval he managed to continue.
‘You see for yourself, Mr Champnell, what a miserable weakling, when this subject is broached, I still remain. I cannot utter the words the stranger uttered, I cannot even write them down. For some inscrutable reason they have on me an effect similar to that which spells and incantations had on people in tales of witchcraft.’
‘I suppose, Mr Lessingham, that there is no doubt that this mysterious stranger was not himself an optical delusion?’
‘Scarcely. There is the evidence of my servants to prove the contrary.’
‘Did your servants see him?’
‘Some of them,—yes. Then there is the evidence of the bureau. The fellow had smashed the top right in two. When I came to examine the contents I learned that a packet of letters was missing. They were letters which I had received from Miss Lindon, a lady whom I hope to make my wife. This, also, I state to you in confidence.’
‘What use would he be likely to make of them?’
‘If matters stand as I fear they do, he might make a very serious misuse of them. If the object of these wretches, after all these years, is a wild revenge, they would be capable, having discovered what she is to me, of working Miss Lindon a fatal mischief,—or, at the very least, of poisoning her mind.’
‘I see.—How did the thief escape,—did he, like the delineation, vanish into air?’