d on to a body that
no longer interests her. For what was Leonora, who filled the hearts of
men with madness, but an incarnation of desire?"

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE KILLING OF DESIRE

We drove in Leonora's car through London. The streets were crowded. I do
not think that much routine work was done that day. People formed little
crowds on the pavements, and at Oxford Circus someone was speaking to a
large concourse from the seat of a motor lorry.

Leonora seemed extraordinarily apathetic. She leaned back in the car and
seemed uninterested in the passing scene. Sarakoff, wrapped up in a fur
rug, stared dreamily in front of him. As far as I can recall them, my
feelings during that swift tour of London were vague. The buildings, the
people, the familiar signs in the streets, the shop windows, all seemed
to have lost in some degree the quality of reality. I was detached from
them; and whenever I made an effort to rouse myself, the ugliness and
meaninglessness of everything I saw seemed strangely emphasized.

When we reached Harley Street we found my house little damaged, save for
a broken panel in the green front door and a few panes of glass smashed
in the lower windows. The house was empty. The servants had vanished.

Leonora said she wished to go home and she drove off in the car.
Sarakoff did not even wave farewell to her, but went straight up to his
room and lay down on the bed. I went into the study and sat in my chair
by the fireplace.

I was roused by the opening of the door, and looking up I saw a face
that I recognized, but for the moment I could not fit a name to it. My
visitor came in calmly, and sat down opposite me.

"My name is Thornduck," he said. "I came to consult you about my health
a few days ago."

"I remember," I said.

"Your front door was open so I walked in."

I nodded. His eyes, stained with blue, rested on me.

"I have been thinking," he said. "It struck me that there was something
you forgot to tell me the other day."

I nodded again.

"You began, if you remember, by asking me if I believed in miracles.
That set me thinking, and as I saw your name in the paper, connected
with the Blue Disease, I knew you were a miracle-monger. How did you do
it?"

"I don't know. It was all due to my black cat. Tripped over it, got
concussion and regained my senses with the idea that led up to the
germ."

He smiled.

"A black cat," he mused. "I wonder if it's all black magic?"

"That's