a little more as to his own state of mind; and again silence fell.
Then at last Mr. Vincent called on him in person one evening after dinner.
Laurie’s rooms were in Mitre Court, very convenient to the Temple—two rooms opening into one another, and communicating with the staircase.
He had played a little on his grand piano, that occupied a third of his sitting room, and had then dropped off to sleep before his fire. He awakened suddenly to see the big man standing almost over him, and sat up confusedly.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Baxter; the porter’s boy told me to come straight up. I found your outer door open.”
Laurie hastened to welcome him, to set him down in a deep chair, to offer whisky and to supply tobacco. There was something about this man that commanded deference.
“You know why I have come, I expect,” said the medium, smiling.
Laurie smiled back, a little nervously.
“I have come to see whether you will not reconsider your decision.”
The boy shook his head.
“I think not,” he said.
“You found no ill effects, I hope, from what happened at Lady Laura’s?”
“Not at all, after the first shock.”
“Doesn’t that reassure you at all, Mr. Baxter?”