The game had suddenly stopped being entertaining. I sat frozen, my heart ceasing to beat while I listened to the cool, dry recitation of his voice.
"After her recovery she was sent back home to her mother's family, to a tight-fisted and unsympathetic relative who feeds her rather less than she needs. This last," he added parenthetically, "is I admit largely conjecture, but as a working hypothesis serves to explain her well- nourished frame poorly covered by flesh, and the reason why she appears at a stranger's table to consume somewhat more than she might if ruled strictly by her obvious good manners. I am willing to consider an alternative explanation," he offered, and opened his eyes, and saw my face.
"Oh, dear." His voice was an odd mixture of sympathy and irritation. "I have been warned about this tendency of mine. I do apologise for any distress I have caused you."
I shook my head and reached for the cold dregs in my teacup. It was difficult to speak through the lump in my throat.
Mr. Holmes stood up and went into the house, where I heard his voice and that of the housekeeper trading a few unintelligible phrases before he returned, carrying two delicate glasses and an open bottle of the palest of wines. He poured it into the glasses and handed me one, identifying it as honey wine — his own, of course. He sat down and we both sipped the fragrant liquor. In a few minutes the lump faded, and I heard the birds again. I took a deep breath and shot him a glance.
"Two hundred years ago you would have been burnt." I was trying for dry humour but was not entirely successful.
"I have been told that before today," he said, "though I cannot say I have ever fancied myself in the rôle of a witch, cackling over my pot."
"Actually, the book of Leviticus calls not for burning, but for the stoning of a man or a woman who speaks with the spirits — iöb, a necromancer or medium — or who is a yidöni, from the verb 'to know,' a person who achieves knowledge and power other than through the grace of the Lord God of Israel, er, well, a sorcerer." My voice trailed off as I realised that he was eyeing me with the apprehension normally reserved for mumbling strangers in one's railway compartment or acquaintances with incomprehensible and tiresome passions. My recitation had been an automatic response, triggered by the entry of a theological point into our discussion. I smiled a weak reassurance. He cleared his throat.
"Er, shall I finish?" he asked.
"As you wish," I said, with trepidation.
"This young lady's parents were relatively well-to-do, and their daughter inherited, which, combined with her daunting intelligence, makes it impossible for this penurious relative to bring her to heel. Hence, she wanders the downs without a chaperone and remains away until all hours."
He seemed to be drawing to a close, so I gathered my tattered thoughts.
"You are quite right, Mr. Holmes. I have inherited, and my aunt does find my actions contrary to her idea of how a young lady should act. And because she holds the keys to the pantry and tries to buy my obedience with food, I occasionally go with less than I would choose. Two minor flaws in your reasoning, however."
"Oh?"
"First, I did not come to Sussex to live with my aunt. The house and farm belonged to my mother. We used to spend summers here when I was small — some of the happiest times of my life — and when I was sent back to En gland I made it a condition of accepting her as guardian that we live here. She had no house, so she reluctantly agreed. Although she will control the finances for another six years, strictly speaking she lives with me, not I with her." Another might have missed the loathing in my voice, but not he. I dropped the subject quickly before I gave away any more of my life. "Second, I have been carefully judging the time by which I must depart in order to arrive home before dark, so the lateness of the hour does not really enter in. I shall have to take my leave soon, as it will be dark in slightly over two hours, and my home is two miles north of where we met."
"Miss Russell, you may take your time with your half of our agreement," he said calmly, allowing me to shelve the previous topic. "One of my neighbours subsidises his passion for automobiles by providing what he insists on calling a taxi service. Mrs. Hudson has gone to arrange for him to motor you home. You may rest for another hour and a quarter before he arrives to whisk you off to the arms of your dear aunt."
I looked down, discomfited. "Mr. Holmes, I'm afraid my allowance is not large enough to allow for such luxuries. In fact, I have already spent this week's monies on the Virgil."
"Miss Russell, I am a man with considerable funds and very little to spend them on. Please allow me to indulge in a whim."
"No, I cannot do that." He looked at my face and gave in.
"Very well, then, I propose a compromise. I shall pay for this and any subsequent expenses of the sort, but as a loan. I assume that your future inheritance will be sufficient to absorb such an accumulation of sums?"
"Oh, yes." I laughed as I recalled vividly the scene in the law office, my aunt's eyes turning dark with greed. "There would be no problem." He glanced at me sharply, hesitated, and spoke with some delicacy.
"Miss Russell, forgive my intrusion, but I tend towards a rather dim view of human nature. If I might enquire as to your will —?" A mind reader, with a solid grasp of the basics of life. I smiled grimly.
"In the event of my death my aunt would get only an adequate yearly amount. Hardly more than she gets now."
He looked relieved. "I see. Now, about the loan.
Your feet will suffer if you insist on walking the distance home in those shoes. At least for today, use the taxi. I am even willing to charge you interest if you like."
There was an odd air about his final, ironic offer that in another, less self-possessed person might have verged on a plea. We sat and studied each other, there in the quiet garden of early evening, and it occurred to me that he might have found this yapping dog an appealing companion. It could even be the beginnings of affection I saw in his face, and God knows that the joy of finding as quick and uncluttered a mind as his had begun to sing in me. We made an odd pair, a gangling, bespectacled girl and a tall, sardonic recluse, blessed or cursed with minds of hard brilliance that alienated all but the most tenacious. It never occurred to me that there might not be subsequent visits to this household. I spoke, and acknowledged his oblique offer of friendship.
"Spending three or four hours a day in travel does leave little time for other things. I accept your offer of a loan. Shall Mrs. Hudson keep the record?"
"She is scrupulously careful with figures, unlike myself. Come, have another glass of my wine, and tell Sherlock Holmes about himself."
"Are you finished, then?"
"Other than obvious things such as the shoes and reading late by inadequate light, that you have few bad habits, though your father smoked, and that unlike most Americans he preferred quality to fashion in his clothing — other than the obvious things, I will rest for the moment.
It is your move. But mind you, I want to hear from you, not what you have picked up from my enthusiastic friend Watson."
"I shall try to avoid borrowing his incisive observations," I said drily, "though I have to wonder if using the stories to write your biography wouldn't prove to be a two- edged sword. The illustrations are certainly deceptive; they make you look considerably older. I'm not very good at guessing ages, but you don't look much more than, what, fifty? Oh, I'm sorry. Some people don't like to talk about their age."