“Catchin’ flies?” inquired the affable Moses.

“A divergence,” said Dr. Pym, with a refined sigh of relief; “a divergence.  Granted that the man in question is deranged, he would not necessarily be all that science requires in a homicidal maniac—­”

“Has it occurred to you,” observed Moon, who was leaning on the gate again, and did not turn round, “that if he were a homicidal maniac he might have killed us all here while we were talking.”

Something exploded silently underneath all their minds, like sealed dynamite in some forgotten cellars.  They all remembered for the first time for some hour or two that the monster of whom they were talking was standing quietly among them.  They had left him in the garden like a garden statue; there might have been a dolphin coiling round his legs, or a fountain pouring out of his mouth, for all the notice they had taken of Innocent Smith.  He stood with his crest of blonde, blown hair thrust somewhat forward, his fresh-coloured, rather short-sighted face looking patiently downwards at nothing in particular, his huge shoulders humped, and his hands in his trousers pockets.  So far as they could guess he had not moved at all.  His green coat might have been cut out of the green turf on which he stood.  In his shadow Pym had expounded and Rosamund expostulated, Michael had ranted and Moses had ragged.  He had remained like a thing graven; the god of the garden.  A sparrow had perched on one of his heavy shoulders; and then, after correcting its costume of feathers, had flown away.

“Why,” cried Michael, with a shout of laughter, “the Court of Beacon has opened—­and shut up again too.  You all know now I am right.  Your buried common sense has told you what my buried common sense has told me.  Smith might have fired off a hundred cannons instead of a pistol, and you would still know he was harmless as I know he is harmless.  Back we all go to the house and clear a room for discussion.  For the High Court of Beacon, which has already arrived at its decision, is just about to begin its inquiry.”

“Just a goin’ to begin!” cried little Mr. Moses in an extraordinary sort of disinterested excitement, like that of an animal during music or a thunderstorm.  “Follow on to the ’Igh Court of Eggs and Bacon; ’ave a kipper from the old firm!  ’Is Lordship complimented Mr. Gould on the ’igh professional delicacy ’e had shown, and which was worthy of the best traditions of the Saloon Bar—­ and three of Scotch hot, miss!  Oh, chase me, girls!”

The girls betraying no temptation to chase him, he went away in a sort of waddling dance of pure excitement; and had made a circuit of the garden before he reappeared, breathless but still beaming.  Moon had known his man when he realized that no people presented to Moses Gould could be quite serious, even if they were quite furious.  The glass doors stood open on the side nearest to Mr. Moses Gould; and as the