THE PAPERS
Bight considered him with attention—as if there were fine possibilities. "No; unless such a person should turn up, say—well, with news of him."
"But what news?"
"With lights—the more lurid the better—on the darkness. With the facts, don't you see, of the disappearance."
Marshal, on his side, threw himself back. "But he'd have to know them!"
"Oh," said Bight, with prompt portentousness, "that could be managed."
It was too much, by this time, for his victim, who simply turned on Maud a dilated eye and a flushed cheek. "Mr. Marshal," it made her say—"Mr. Marshal would like to turn up."
Her hand was on the table, and the effect of her words, combined with this, was to cause him, before responsive speech could come, to cover it respectfully but expressively with his own. "Do you mean," he panted to Bight, "that you have, amid the general collapse of speculation, facts to give?"
"I've always facts to give."
It begot in the poor man a large hot smile. "But—how shall I say?—authentic, or as I believe you clever people say, 'inspired' ones?"
"If I should undertake such a case as we're supposing, I would of course by that circumstance undertake that my facts should be—well, worthy of it. I would take," Bight on his own part modestly smiled, "pains with them."
It finished the business. "Would you take pains for me?"
Bight looked at him now hard. "Would you like to appear?"
"Oh, 'appear'!" Marshal weakly murmured.
"Is it, Mr. Marshal, a real proposal? I mean are you prepared———?"
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