“There are things—­I touch upon them lightly—­that will presently astonish Lagune.”  Lewisham became more attentive.  “I marvel at that man, grubbing hungry for marvels amidst the almost incredibly marvellous.  What can be the nature of a man who gapes after Poltergeists with the miracle of his own silly existence (inconsequent, reasonless, unfathomably weird) nearer to him than breathing and closer than hands and feet.  What is he for, that he should wonder at Poltergeists?  I am astonished these by no means flimsy psychic phenomena do not turn upon their investigators, and that a Research Society of eminent illusions and hallucinations does not pursue Lagune with sceptical! inquiries.  Take his house—­expose the alleged man of Chelsea! A priori they might argue that a thing so vain, so unmeaning, so strongly beset by cackle, could only be the diseased imagining of some hysterical phantom.  Do you believe that such a thing as Lagune exists?  I must own to the gravest doubts.  But happily his banker is of a more credulous type than I....  Of all that Lagune will tell you soon enough.”

Lewisham read no more.  “I suppose he thought himself clever when he wrote that rot,” said Lewisham bitterly, throwing the sheets forcibly athwart the table.  “The simple fact is, he’s stolen, or forged, or something—­and bolted.”

There was a pause.  “What will become of Mother?” said Ethel.

Lewisham looked at Mother and thought for a moment.  Then he glanced at Ethel.

“We’re all in the same boat,” said Lewisham.

“I don’t want to give any trouble to a single human being,” said Mrs. Chaffery.

“I think you might get a man his tea, Ethel,” said Lewisham, sitting down suddenly; “anyhow.”  He drummed on the table with his fingers.  “I have to get to Walham Green by a quarter to seven.”

“We’re all in the same boat,” he repeated after an interval, and continued drumming.  He was chiefly occupied by the curious fact that they were all in the same boat.  What an extraordinary faculty he had for acquiring responsibility!  He looked up suddenly and caught Mrs. Chaffery’s tearful eye directed to Ethel and full of distressful interrogation, and his perplexity was suddenly changed to pity.  “It’s all right, Mother,” he said.  “I’m not going to be unreasonable.  I’ll stand by you.”

“Ah!” said Mrs. Chaffery.  “As if I didn’t know!” and Ethel came and kissed him.

He seemed in imminent danger of universal embraces.

“I wish you’d let me have my tea,” he said.  And while he had his tea he asked Mrs. Chaffery questions and tried to get the new situation into focus.

But even at ten o’clock, when he was returning hot and jaded from Walham Green, he was still trying to get the situation into focus.  There were vague ends and blank walls of interrogation in the matter, that perplexed him.