‘But,’ persisted Malkin, ’it’s precisely my ill fortune to hit on those rare moments when people are out!—­Now, I never meet acquaintances in the streets of London; but, if I happen to be abroad, as likely as not I encounter the last person I should expect to find.  Why, you remember, I rush over to America for scarcely a week’s stay, and there I come across a man who has disappeared astonishingly from the ken of all his friends!’

Christian looked at Marcella.  She was leaning forward, her lips slightly parted, her eyes wide as if in gaze at something that fascinated her.  He saw that she spoke, but her voice was hardly to be recognised.

‘Are you quite sure of that instance, Mr. Malkin?’

‘Yes, I feel quite sure, Miss Moxey.  Undoubtedly it was Peak!’

Buckland Warricombe, who had been waiting for a chance of escape, suddenly wore a look of interest.  He rapidly surveyed the trio.  Christian, somewhat out of countenance, tried to answer Malkin in a tone of light banter.

’It happens, my dear fellow, that Peak has not left England since we lost sight of him.’

‘What?  He has been heard of?  Where is he then?’

’Mr. Warricombe can assure you that he has been living for a year at Exeter.’

Buckland, perceiving that he had at length come upon something important to his purposes, smiled genially.

’Yes, I have had the pleasure of seeing Peak down in Devon from time to time.’

‘Then it was really an illusion!’ cried Malkin.  ’I was too hasty.  Yet that isn’t a charge that can be often brought against me, I think.  Does Earwaker know of this?’

‘He has lately heard,’ replied Christian, who in vain sought for a means of checking Malkin’s loquacity.  ’I thought he might have told you.’

’Certainly not.  The thing is quite new to me.  And what is Peak doing down there, pray?  Why did he conceal himself?’

Christian gazed appealingly at his sister.  She returned the look steadily, but neither stirred nor spoke.  It was Warricombe’s voice that next sounded: 

‘Peak’s behaviour seems mysterious,’ he began, with ironic gravity.  ’I don’t pretend to understand him.  What’s your view of his character, Mr. Malkin?’

’I know him very slightly indeed, Mr. Warricombe.  But I have a high opinion of his powers.  I wonder he does so little.  After that article of his in The Critical’——­

Malkin became aware of something like agonised entreaty on Christian’s countenance, but this had merely the effect of heightening his curiosity.

‘In The Critical?’ said Warricombe, eagerly.  ’I didn’t know of that.  What was the subject?’

‘To be sure, it was anonymous,’ went on Malkin, without a suspicion of the part he was playing before these three excited people.  ’A paper called “The New Sophistry”, a tremendous bit of satire.’

Marcella’s eyes closed as if a light had flashed before them; she drew a short sigh, and at once seemed to become quite at ease, the smile with which she regarded Warricombe expressing a calm interest.