The memory of Beaumaroy's look
was even keener than the sensation caused by Beaumaroy's boot. It sent
him in flight back to Inkston, thence to London, thence into the unknown,
to some spot chosen for its remoteness from Beaumaroy, from Captain
Naylor, from Mike and from Neddy. He recognized his unpopularity, thereby
achieving a triumph in a difficult little branch of wisdom.
Beaumaroy returned to the parlor hastily; not so much to avoid keeping
Captain Alec waiting--it was quite a useful precaution to have that
sentry on duty a little longer--as because his curiosity and interest had
been excited by the description which Doctor Mary had given of Mr.
Saffron's death. It was true, probably the precise truth, but it seemed
to have been volunteered in a rather remarkable way and worded with
careful purpose. Also it was the bare truth, the truth denuded of all its
attendant circumstances--which had not been normal.
When he rejoined her, Mary was sitting in the armchair by the fire; she
heard his account of the state of affairs up-to-date with a thoughtful
smile, smoking a cigarette; her smile broadened over the tale of the
water-butt.
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