"
Mullins bowed, venerable as an archdeacon in aspect and bearing, as
he received the letter from his master: "Certainly, Sir Terence."
As he departed Sir Terence turned and slowly paced back to his desk,
leaving the door open. His eyes had narrowed; there was a cruel,
an almost evil smile on his lips. Of the generous, good-humoured
nature imprinted upon his face every sign had vanished. His
countenance was a mask of ferocity restrained by intelligence, cold
and calculating.
Oh, he would pay the score that lay between himself and those two
who had betrayed him. They should receive treachery for treachery,
mockery for mockery, and for dishonour death. They had deemed him
an old fool! What was the expression that Samoval had used -
Pantaloon in the comedy? Well, well! He had been Pantaloon in the
comedy so far. But now they should find him Pantaloon in the tragedy
- nay, not Pantaloon at all, but Polichinelle, the sinister jester,
the cynical clown, who laughs in murdering. And in anguished
silence should they bear the punishment he would mete out to them,
or else in no less anguished speech themselves proclaim their own
dastardy to the world.
His wife he beheld now in a new light.
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