He was aware, too, once more, of some huge plot developing around him,
some supernatural plot in which all the elements too were involved--earth,
sun and sky, and also every one in the town, down to the smallest child
there.
He seemed to see behind him, just out of his sight, a tall massive figure
directing the plot, a figure something like himself, only with a heavy
black beard, cloudy, without form....
They would catch him in their plot as in a net, but he would escape them,
and he would escape them by wonderful calm, and self-control, and the
absence of all emotion.
So that, although his voice shook a little, it was quietly that he
repeated:
"This is not in my wife's handwriting. You know the penalties for
forgery." Then, looking her full in the face, he added, "Penal servitude."
She smiled back at him.
"I am sure, Archdeacon, that all I require is a full investigation. These
wickednesses are going on in this town, and those principally concerned
should know. I have only done what I consider my duty."
Her eyes lingered on his face. She savoured now during these moments the
revenge for which, in all these months, she had ceaselessly longed.
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