e, but it was a pose; one liked to know
something of antecedents. It was otherwise difficult to "place" them.
And Henriot, for the life of him, could not "place" these two. His
Subconsciousness brought explanation when it came--but the
Subconsciousness is only temporarily active. When it retired he
floundered without a rudder, in confusion.

With the flood of morning sunshine the value of much she had said
evaporated. Her presence alone had supplied the key to the cipher. But
while the indigestible portions he rejected, there remained a good deal
he had already assimilated. The discomfort remained; and with it the
grave, unholy reality of it all. It was something more than theory.
Results would follow--if he joined them. He would witness curious
things.

The force with which it drew him brought hesitation. It operated in him
like a shock that numbs at first by its abrupt arrival, and needs time
to realise in the right proportions to the rest of life. These right
proportions, however, did not come readily, and his emotions ranged
between sceptical laughter and complete acceptance. The one detail he
felt certain of was this dreadful thing he had divined in Vance. Trying
hard to disbelieve it, he found he could not. It was true. Though
without a shred of real evidence to support it, the horror of it
remained. He knew it in his very bones.

And this, perhaps, was what drove him to seek the comforting
companionship of folk he understood and felt at home with. He told his
host and hostess about the strangers, though omitting the actual
conversation because they would merely smile in blank miscomprehension.
But the moment he described the strong black eyes beneath the level
eyelids, his hostess turned with a start, her interest deeply roused:
"Why, it's that awful Statham woman," she exclaimed, "that must be Lady
Statham, and the man she calls her nephew."

"Sounds like it, certainly," her husband added. "Felix, you'd better
clear out. They'll bewitch you too."

And Henriot bridled, yet wondering why he did so. He drew into his shell
a little, giving the merest sketch of what had happened. But he listened
closely while these two practical old friends supplied him with
information in the gossiping way that human nature loves. No doubt there
was much embroidery, and more perversion, exaggeration too, but the
account evidently rested upon some basis of solid foundation for all
that. Smoke and fire go together always.

"He