f something that set the secretary's nerves
tingling. A mist spread before his eyes and the unaccountable belief
rose strong in him that he was staring into the visage of an untamed
animal. Close to his heart there was something that was wild, fierce,
savage. An involuntary shiver ran over him and seemed to dispel the
strange fancy as suddenly as it had come. He met the other's eye with a
smile, the counterpart of which in his heart was vivid horror.

"It _is_ a special occasion," he said, as naturally as possible, "and,
allow me to add, very special whisky."

Garvey appeared delighted. He was in the middle of a devious tale
describing how the whisky came originally into his possession when the
door opened behind them and a grating voice announced that dinner was
ready. They followed the cassocked form of Marx across the dirty hall,
lit only by the shaft of light that followed them from the library door,
and entered a small room where a single lamp stood upon a table laid for
dinner. The walls were destitute of pictures, and the windows had
Venetian blinds without curtains. There was no fire in the grate, and
when the men sat down facing each other Shorthouse noticed that, while
his own cover was laid with its due proportion of glasses and cutlery,
his companion had nothing before him but a soup plate, without fork,
knife, or spoon beside it.

"I don't know what there is to offer you," he said; "but I'm sure Marx
has done the best he can at such short notice. I only eat one course for
dinner, but pray take your time and enjoy your food."

Marx presently set a plate of soup before the guest, yet so loathsome
was the immediate presence of this old Hebrew servitor, that the
spoonfuls disappeared somewhat slowly. Garvey sat and watched him.

Shorthouse said the soup was delicious and bravely swallowed another
mouthful. In reality his thoughts were centred upon his companion, whose
manners were giving evidence of a gradual and curious change. There was
a decided difference in his demeanour, a difference that the secretary
_felt_ at first, rather than saw. Garvey's quiet self-possession was
giving place to a degree of suppressed excitement that seemed so far
inexplicable. His movements became quick and nervous, his eye shifting
and strangely brilliant, and his voice, when he spoke, betrayed an
occasional deep tremor. Something unwonted was stirring within him and
evidently demanding every moment more vigorous manifestatio