It seemed an eternity before Mrs. Cricklander got up to go, having been
unable to persuade Mr. Carlyon to return with them to luncheon. He had a
slight cold, he said, and meant to remain in his warm library.
"Mr. Derringham says you are called Cheiron," Mrs. Cricklander announced
laughingly. "How ridiculous to find in you any likeness to that old
ferryman of the piercing eye. I see no resemblance but in the beard."
"So John relegates me to the post of ferryman to the dead already, does
he!" Mr. Carlyon responded. "I had hoped he still allowed me my horse's
hoofs and my cave--I have been deceiving myself all these years,
evidently."
A blank look grew in Mrs. Cricklander's eye. What had caves and horse's
hoofs to do with the case? She had better turn the conversation at once,
or she might be out of her depth, she felt; and this she did with her
usual skill, but not before the Professor's left eyebrow had run up into
his forehead, and his wise old eyes beneath had met and then instantly
averted themselves from those of John Derringham.
All the way back to the house Mrs.
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