“Ah, there we shall have to move very slowly—very—slowly,” said Marshall when Travers stopped. “Mr. Fair is thought to be of unsound mind on a number of subjects by a number of persons. He is so successful, you know—so original, that others who are merely British fail to understand him. Moreover, Fair is unselfish, sympathetic, altruistic—and of course appears mad to our smug, hoggish world.”
“Damn it,” exclaimed Allyne, “that’s all, as you say, but the dear fellow has gone clean off his head this time, you know. You just wait until Travers gives you the details.”
“I am waiting,” answered Marshall calmly.
“Before we come to that,” said Travers in answer to Marshall’s look, “I believe, Mr. Marshall, that you knew Fair’s father, did you not?”
“Intimately—and his grandfather also. What of them?”
“What sort were they?”
“Very much like Fair—both were thought mad.”
“In what way? They were men of tremendous will power and fixity of purpose, were they not? I have reason for asking.”
“Quite so. They were idealists, dreamers, monomaniacs—but why?”
“I thought as much. The stuff martyrs are made of. Tell us about them, if you don’t mind, Mr. Marshall,” said Travers, unaccountably insistent.