’Give the girl her head!  H-haven’t I—­I g-given the g-girl her h-head all her l-life!’ He looked at his watch.  ’Why, the day’s half gone!’ He began scurrying towards the front door, I following at his heels.  ’I’ve got a committee meeting on at the club,—­m-most important!  For weeks they’ve been giving us the worst food you ever tasted in your life,—­p-played havoc with my digestion, and I—­I’m going to tell them if—­things aren’t changed, they—­they’ll have to pay my doctor’s bills.—­As for that man, Lessingham—­’

As he spoke, he himself opened the hall door, and there, standing on the step was ‘that man Lessingham’ himself.  Lindon was a picture.  The Apostle was as cool as a cucumber.  He held out his hand.

‘Good morning, Mr Lindon.  What delightful weather we are having.’

Lindon put his hand behind his back,—­and behaved as stupidly as he very well could have done.

’You will understand, Mr Lessingham, that, in future, I don’t know you, and that I shall decline to recognise you anywhere; and that what I say applies equally to any member of my family.’

With his hat very much on the back of his head he went down the steps like an inflated turkeycock.

CHAPTER XXII

THE HAUNTED MAN

To have received the cut discourteous from his future father-in-law might have been the most commonplace of incidents,—­Lessingham evinced not a trace of discomposure.  So far as I could judge, he took no notice of the episode whatever, behaving exactly as if nothing had happened.  He merely waited till Mr Lindon was well off the steps; then, turning to me, he placidly observed,

‘Interrupting you again, you see.—­May I?’

The sight of him had set up such a turmoil in my veins, that, for the moment, I could not trust myself to speak.  I felt, acutely, that an explanation with him was, of all things, the thing most to be desired,—­and that quickly.  Providence could not have thrown him more opportunely in the way.  If, before he went away, we did not understand each other a good deal more clearly, upon certain points, the fault should not be mine.  Without a responsive word, turning on my heels, I led the way into the laboratory.

Whether he noticed anything peculiar in my demeanour, I could not tell.  Within he looked about him with that purely facial smile, the sight of which had always engendered in me a certain distrust of him.

‘Do you always receive visitors in here?’

‘By no means.’

‘What is this?’

Stooping down, he picked up something from the floor.  It was a lady’s purse,—­a gorgeous affair, of crimson leather and gleaming gold.  Whether it was Marjorie’s or Miss Grayling’s I could not tell.  He watched me as I examined it.

‘Is it yours?’

‘No.  It is not mine.’

Placing his hat and umbrella on one chair, he placed himself upon another,—­very leisurely.  Crossing his legs, laying his folded hands upon his knees, he sat and looked at me.  I was quite conscious of his observation; but endured it in silence, being a little wishful that he should begin.