Satis.
¹ Reproduced on following page. (V. Markham.) [↩︎]
XXII.
The Beginning of the End: Parabola
Same day. 3 P.M.
In spite of early bed last night, no one was downstairs early this bright morning, Sunday. I myself wanted breakfast at nine, but then I am the one person in the House who has anything concrete to do (to wit, this writing)—hence I require the less repose.
I visited the library before I went for food. To my grim pleasure, the Book of Sylvan Armitage was back on its shelf. I am always grimly pleased nowadays when anything baffling turns up. Crofts, by the way, has proved blatantly sceptical about my experience last night; he said that if I must go crawling about the House when decent folk are abed, I mustn’t hold him responsible for what I think I see.
The telephone jangled in the corridor while I was at the table. I heard Soames answer and take some message. Presently the servant came to me.
“Superintendent Salt is holding on, sir, if you please.”
“Me, he wants?”
“He asked for any of the gentlemen, sir. Would you mind speaking to him?”