"If so, I am at least a buffoon of parts," was the prompt
rejoinder. "I will, if you choose, prove myself."
There was a moment's silence. Wilmore was leaning forward in his
place, studying the newcomer earnestly. An impatient invective
was somehow stifled upon Francis' lips.
"Within a few yards of this place, sometime before the closing
hour to-night," the intruder continued, earnestly yet with a
curious absence of any human quality in his hard tone, "there
will be a disturbance, and probably what you would call a crime
will be committed. Will you use your vaunted gifts to hunt down
the desperate criminal, and, in your own picturesque phraseology,
set your heel upon his neck? Success may bring you fame, and the
trail may lead--well, who knows where?"
Afterwards, both Francis and Andrew Wilmore marvelled at
themselves, unable at any time to find any reasonable explanation
of their conduct, for they answered this man neither with
ridicule, rudeness nor civility. They simply stared at him,
impressed with the convincing arrogance of his challenge and
unable to find words of reply. They received his mocking
farewell without any form of reciprocation or sign of resentment.
They watched him leave the room, a dignified, distinguished
figure, sped on his way with marks of the deepest respect by
waiters, maitres d'hotels and even the manager himself.
Pages:
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66