“It which was present in the room; It which did it all; the sound which we heard in the Fulham Road just now. Listen! Can’t you hear it, too?”
It might have been my imagination—probably was—but, as she spoke, I certainly did think that I recognised, as if it issued from the lips of some one who was within reach of where we stood, the woman’s laughter which had in it so singular and disagreeable a quality. It had on me a most uncomfortable effect. I returned to Lawrence, fearful lest, if I was not careful, the proceedings might take a shape in which I might relish them less even than I did at present.
“Come. Let’s be moving.”
“With pleasure. Life is movement, and exercise is the thing for the liver.”
“What is the address of the place to which you are taking us?”
He laid his finger against his nose.
“That’s a secret which I wouldn’t divulge for worlds. There’s a lady there—a goddess! And a demon! Would you have me tell all the world where she’s to be found, as if she were a person of no reputation. She’s with me all the time; she never leaves me for a moment alone; and yet, all the while, she waits for me at home. That’s to have a familiar in attendance, if you please.”
I made no reply. That his words had meaning, and were not the mere ravings which they seemed, I did not doubt. I was asking myself what was the solution of the problem to which they pointed, and was still obliged to own that I had no notion. I had, also, my attention partly occupied by my efforts to keep the rabble from a too close attendance on the lady, whose little hand again caressed my arm.
Lawrence was swinging along at a good round pace, his hat a little at the back of his head; his eyes, lips, every muscle of his face were in constant motion. His arms were as if they had been hung on wires, which continually thrust them this way and that. He was not for a moment still. If not speaking aloud, he muttered to himself. Presently he began upon a theme which I would have thanked him to have avoided.
“So, Ferguson, you’re a humorist—practical and actual. I’ve been reading the news—still sane enough to read the papers—how you locked the coroner in his court. I’d have given one of Bernstein’s forged bills to have been there to see, though it was on me that they were sitting. I thought I never should have done laughing. And she—the Goddess—she’s laughing still.”