CHAPTER 7SHOALS AND QUICKSANDS
When I arrived at Endsley Gardens, Miss Gibson was at home, and to my unspeakable relief, Mrs. Hornby was not. My veneration for that lady’s moral qualities was excessive, but her conversation drove me to the verge of insanity—an insanity not entirely free from homicidal tendencies.
“It is good of you to come—though I thought you would,” Miss Gibson said impulsively, as we shook hands. “You have been so sympathetic and human—both you and Dr. Thorndyke—so free from professional stiffness. My aunt went off to see Mr. Lawley directly we got Walter’s telegram.”
“I am sorry for her,” I said (and was on the point of adding “and him,” but fortunately a glimmer of sense restrained me); “she will find him dry enough.”
“Yes; I dislike him extremely. Do you know tha
