Those London letters he brought settled
his case beyond all argument whatever.
All of which needs mention because there was a place called the End of
the World, and the title has of course to do with it. For the End of
the World is the hiding-place of Wonder.
Beyond that crumbling kitchen-garden wall was a very delightful bit of
the universe. A battered grey fence kept out the road, but there were
slits between the boards through which the Passers-by could be
secretly observed. All Passers-by were criminals or heroes on their
way to mysterious engagements; the majority were disguised; many of
them could be heard talking darkly to themselves. They were a queer
lot, those Passers-by. Those who came _from_ London were escaping, but
those going north were intent upon awful business in the sinister
metropolis--explosions, murders, enormous jewel robberies, and
conspiracies against the Radicalgovunment. The solitary policeman who
passed occasionally was in constant terror of his life. They longed to
warn him. Yet he had his other side as well--his questionable side.
This neglected patch of kitchen-garden, however, possessed other
claims to charm as well as the tattered fence.
Pages:
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120