“God knows,” said Keede to himself.
“Hadn’t we better ring for some one?” I suggested. “He’ll go off the handle in a second.”
“No he won’t. It’s the last kick-up before it takes hold. I know how the stuff works. Hul-lo.”
Strangwick, his hands behind his back and his eyes set, gave tongue in the strained, cracked voice of a boy reciting. “Not twice in the world shall the Gods do thus,” he cried again and again.
“And I’m damned if it’s goin’ to be even once for me!” he went on with sudden insane fury. “I don’t care whether we ’ave been pricin’ things in the windows.... Let ’er sue if she likes! She don’t know what reel things mean. I do—I’ve ’ad occasion to notice ’em.... No, I tell you! I’ll ’ave ’em when I want ’em, an’ be done with ’em; but not till I see that look on a face ... that look.... I’m not takin’ any. The reel thing’s life an’ death. It begins at death, d’ye see. She can’t understand.... Oh, go on an’ push off to Hell, you an’ your lawyers. I’m fed up with it—fed up!”
He stopped as abruptly as he had started, and the drawn face broke back to its natural irresolute lines. Keede, holding both his hands, led him back to the sofa, where he dropped like a wet towel, took out some flamboyant robe from a press, and drew it neatly over him.
“Ye-es. That’s the real thing at last,” said Keede. “Now he’s got it off his mind he’ll sleep. By the way, who introduced him?”
“Shall I go and find out?” I suggested.
“Yes; and you might ask him to come here. There’s no need for us to stand to all night.”
So I went to the Banquet which was in full swing, and was seized by an elderly, precise Brother from a South London Lodge who followed me, concerned and apologetic. Keede soon put him at his ease.