I postponed my breakfast for want of appetite, and, as Brande's house was the best example of Liberty Hall I had ever met with, I offered no apology for my absence during the entire day when I rejoined my host and hostess in the evening. The interval I spent in the woods, thinking much and deciding nothing.
After dinner, Brande introduced me to a man whom he called Edward Grey. Natalie conducted me to the room in which they were engaged. From the mass of correspondence in which this man Grey was absorbed, and the litter of papers about him, it was evident that he must have been in the house long before I made his acquaintance.
Grey handed me a book, which I found to be a register of the names of the members of Brande's Society, and pointed out the place for my signature.
When I had written my name on the list I said to Brande: "Now that I have nominated myself, I suppose you'll second me?"
"It is not necessary," he answered; "you are already a member. Your remark to Miss Metford this morning made you one of us. You advised her, you recollect, to beware of us."
"That girl!" I exclaimed, horrified. "Then she is one of your spies? Is it possible?"
"No, she is not one of our spies. We have none, and she knew nothing of the purpose for which she was used."
"Then I beg to say that you have made a d—d shameful use of her."
In the passion of the moment I forgot my manners to my host, and formed the resolution to denounce the Society to the police the moment I returned to London. Brande was not offended by my violence. There was not a trace of anger in his voice as he said:
"Miss Metford's information was telepathically conveyed to my sister."