CHAPTER NINETEEN. The Cage of the Wild Birds
'Why, Mr Ivery, come right in,' said the voice at the table. There was a screen before me, stretching from the fireplace to keep off the draught from the door by which I had entered. It stood higher than my head but there were cracks in it through which I could watch the room. I found a little table on which I could lean my back, for I was dropping with fatigue.
Blenkiron sat at the writing-table and in front of him were little rows of Patience cards. Wood ashes still smouldered in the stove, and a lamp stood at his right elbow which lit up the two figures. The bookshelves and the cabinets were in twilight.
'I've been hoping to see you for quite a time.' Blenkiron was busy arranging the little heaps of cards, and his face was wreathed in hosp
