in our souls of those misty centuries when the world was in its childhood.”

 

“That’s rather a broad idea,” I remarked.

 

“One’s ideas must be as broad as Nature if they are to interpret Nature,” he

answered. “What’s the matter? You’re not looking quite yourself. This Brixton

Road affair has upset you.”

 

“To tell the truth, it has,” I said. “I ought to be more case-hardened after my

Afghan experiences. I saw my own comrades hacked to pieces at Maiwand without

losing my nerve.”

 

“I can understand. There is a mystery about this which stimulates the

imagination; where there is no imagination there is no horror. Have you seen the

evening paper?”

 

“No.”

 

“It gives a fairly good account of the affair. It does not mention the fact that

when the man was raised up, a woman’s wedding ring fell upon the floor. It is

just as well it does not.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Look at this advertisement,” he answered. “I had one sent to every paper this