much older than the building, for the architecture was dated as Georgian; but
the man's face, under a highly unnatural brown wig, was wrinkled with what
might have been centuries. Only his prominent eyes were alive and alert, as if
with protest. Fisher glanced at him, and then stopped and said:
"Excuse me. Weren't you with the late squire, Mr. Hawker?"
"Yes, sir," said the man, gravely. "Usher is my name. What can I do for
you?"
"Only take me into Sir Francis Verner," replied the visitor.
Sir Francis Verner was sitting in an easy chair beside a small table in a
large room hung with tapestries. On the table were a small flask and glass,
with the green glimmer of a liqueur and a cup of black coffee. He was clad in
a quiet gray suit with a moderately harmonious purple tie; but Fisher saw
something about the turn of his fair mustache and the lie of his flat hair—it
suddenly revealed that his name was Franz Werner.
"You are Mr. Horne Fisher," he said. "Won't you sit down?"
"No, thank you," replied Fisher. "I fear this is not a friendly occasion, and I
shall remain standing. Possibly you know that I am already standing—
standing for Parliament, in fact—"
"I am aware we are political opponents," replied Verner, raising his
eyebrows. "But I think it would be better if we fought in a sporting spirit; in a
spirit of English fair play."
"Much better," assented Fisher. "It would be much better if you were
English and very much better if you had ever played fair. But what I've come
to say can be said very shortly. I don't quite know how we stand with the law
about that old Hawker story, but my chief object is to prevent England being
entirely ruled by people like you. So whatever the law would say, I will say no
more if you will retire from the election at once."
"You are evidently a lunatic," said Verner.
"My psychology may be a little abnormal," replied Horne Fisher, in a
rather hazy manner. "I am subject to dreams, especially day-dreams.
Sometimes what is happening to me grows vivid in a curious double way, as if
it had happened before. Have you ever had that mystical feeling that things
have happened before?"
"I hope you are a harmless lunatic," said Verner.But Fisher was still staring in an absent fashion at the golden gigantic
figures and traceries of brown and red in the tapestries on the walls; then he
looked again at Verner and resumed: "I have a feeling that this interview has