“They have been separated for years—and there is a reason.” And Mr. Williams explained how he had found it all in his book. “I have it all here under my hand”; and he laid his hand on the useful volume, lying there on the table. “As soon as you told me the name it aroused associations in my memory—apart from his public performances, you know. There was a law suit—years ago—quite an important case. Mrs. Dyke proved to be out of her mind—immediately after the wedding—and Dyke tried to get the marriage annulled, on the grounds that her people had deceived him. He failed of course.”
Mr. Verinder had not known about the madness, and he sat frowning and brooding over it. Then presently he asked what Mr. Williams had discovered about the man himself.
“Yes,” said Mr. Williams, “I have his whole record here.” And he began to read from a paper of notes, saying that Anthony Dyke left Africa for Australia in such and such a year; was thanked by the government of Queensland for explorations in the interior of the continent in the year 1885; and in 1887 made his first Antarctic cruise, which resulted in the discovery of the island now known as Anthony Dyke Land. It was of course all in the books, and Mr. Verinder, who already knew it by heart, interrupted very irritably.
“Yes, yes, yes. No more than that? Very good.” Then, after exchanging a glance with Eustace, he said, “Williams, the fact is—Frankly, our trouble is this. He is paying undesirable attentions to my daughter.”
“Oh, really?” Mr. Williams showed suitable distress as well as surprise, and he looked across at the bookcases. “Which of your daughters?”
“My unmarried daughter.”
“Oh, really? Miss Emmeline!”
“Yes. What would you advise me to do?”
“Ah, that’s somewhat difficult to say. Off-hand, I should scarcely like—”
And another look given by Mr. Williams to the book-shelves was that of a timid swimmer who feels deep water under him and sees the solid shore fast receding. “From what you have let fall—well, so little to go on, from what you have let fall.”