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Page 81
"Nevertheless, it was not old age and a good dinner that ended her
life. She, too, perished by an assassin."
"You still speak of crime."
"If I am not mistaken, then 'crime' is the only word."
"But, forgive me, is it imaginable that the same criminal could
destroy three men last year and kill an old woman more than sixty
years ago?"
"Quite possible. You do not see? Then I hope to have the
privilege of showing you presently."
"It would seem, then, that the malignant thing is really undying--
as poor May believed--a conscious being hidden there, but beyond
our sight and knowledge?"
"No, no, my friend. Let me be frank. I have no theory that
embraces either a good or evil spirit. Believe me, there are fewer
things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in our philosophy.
Man has burdened his brain with an infinite deal of rubbish of his
own manufacture. Much of his principle and practice is built on
myths and dreams. He is a credulous creature, and insanely
tenacious to tradition; but I say to you, suspect tradition at
every turn, and the more ancient the tradition, the more mistrust
it. We harbor a great deal too much of the savage still in us--we
still carry about far more of his mental lumber and nonsense than
we imagine. Intellect should simplify rather than complicate, and
those to come will look back with pity to see this generation, like
flies, entangled in the webs of thought their rude forefathers
spun. But the eternal verities are few; a child could count them.
We are, however, a great deal too fond of believing what our
ancestors believed. Alas, nobody sins more in this respect than I.
Let us, then, throw overboard the supernatural, once and for all,
so far as the Grey Room is concerned. No ghost haunts it; no
succubus or succuba is hidden there, to harry the life out of good
men and women."
"It is strange that you should take almost the identical line of
thought that poor Peter Hardcastle took. I hope to God you are
right!"
"So far I am most certainly in the right. We can leave the other
world out of our calculations."
He asked various questions, many of which did not appear to bear
on the subject, but he made no suggestions as yet, and advanced
no theories. He suspected that Peter Hardcastle might have
arrived at a conclusion had not death cut short his inquiry.
From time to time he lifted his hand gently for silence, and
permitted a reply to penetrate his mind.
"I think very slowly about new things now," he said. "An idea must
sink in gradually and find its place. That is the worst of new
ideas. There is so little room for them when you are eighty. The
old and settled opinions fill the space, and are jealous and resent
newcomers."
Sir Walter explained to him presently that the room was being
opened, and would be ready after luncheon. Whereupon he expressed
concern for the workers.
"Let them have a care," he said, "for, if I am right, the danger is
still present. Let them work with despatch, and not loiter about."
"No harm has ever undertaken more than one, when in the room alone.
The detectives saw and felt nothing."
"Nevertheless, the assassin was quite equal to smudging out the
detectives, believe me, Sir Walter."
The day was fine, and Signor Mannetti expressed a wish to take the
air. They walked on the terrace presently, and Mary joined them.
He asked for her arm, and she gave it.
Prince padded beside her, and the visitor declared interest in him.
"Like myself, your dog is on the verge of better things," he said.
"He will do good deeds in the happy hunting grounds, be sure."
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