The Necromancers

"And the others--the medium, and so on?"

"They will have to take their chance. It's absolutely useless going to them."

"They're as bad as I am, I expect."

The old man turned a sharp face to him.

"Oh! you know nothing whatever about it," he said. "You don't count. But they do know quite enough."

In the underground the two talked no more; but Mr. Morton, affecting to read his paper, glanced up once or twice at the old shrewd face opposite that stared so steadily out of the window into the roaring darkness. And once more he reflected how astonishing it was that anyone in these days--anyone, at least, possessing common sense--and common sense was written all over that old bearded face--could believe such fantastic rubbish as that which had been lately discussed. It was not only the particular points that regarded Laurie Baxter--all these absurd, though disquieting hints about insanity and suicide and the rest of it--but the principles that old Cathcart declared to be beneath--those principles which he had, apparently, not confided to Miss Deronnais. Here was the twentieth century; here was an electric railway, padded seats, and the Pall Mall...! Was further comment required?

The train began to slow up at Gloucester Road; and old Cathcart gathered up his umbrella and gloves.

"Then tomorrow," he said, "at the same time?"

Mr. Morton made a resigned gesture.

"But why don't you go and have it out with him yourself?" he asked.

"He would not listen to me--less than ever now. Good night!"

* * * * *

The train slid on again into the darkness; and the lawyer sat for a moment with pursed lips. Yes, of course the boy was overwrought: anyone could see that: he had stammered a little--a sure sign. But why make all this fuss? A week in the country would set him right.

Then he opened the Pall Mall again resolutely.