I took the precaution of calling on Gladys to acquaint her with the day's arrangements, and beg her to see that I was not compelled to wear any costume belittling to the dignity of a middle-aged uncle. Then after writing a bulletin to catch my brother at Gibraltar, I felt I had earned rest and a cheroot before luncheon. Brandon Court was one of those admirably appointed houses where you could be certain of finding wooden matches in every room; it was not, however, till I got back to the library that I found companionship and the Seraph. He was lying on a sofa writing slowly and painfully with his left hand.
"If that's volume three," I said, "I won't interrupt. If it's anything else, we'd better smoke and talk. I will do the smoking."
"I'm only scribbling," he answered. "There's no hurry about volume three."
"Your public—quorum pars non magna sum—is growing impatient."
"There won't be any volume three," he said quietly.
"But why not? I mean, a mere temporary hitch...."
"It's not that. If it wasn't for this hand I could write like, well, like you do write once in a lifetime."
"What's to stop you?"
"Nothing. I only said there wouldn't be a volume three. I shan't publish it."
"Why not?"