Was this the confession coming? Would he hear now
that his chief was going to be married? His wandering eyes almost drew
level in the excitement that he felt. He knocked a tiny ash from his
cigarette and waited. But the expected bomb did not explode. He heard
instead this curious question:--
'And that's something--it reminds me now--something I particularly
wanted to ask you about, my dear fellow. You are familiar, I know,
with such things and theories--er--speculations, as it were. You read
that sort of stuff. You are in touch with the latest ideas, I mean,
and up-to-date. You can tell me, if any one can.'
He paused, hesitating a moment, as Minks, listening in some
bewilderment, gazed into his eager face. He said nothing. He only
committed himself to a deprecating gesture with his hands, letting his
cigarette slip from his fingers on to the carpet.
'About _thought_,' continued Rogers, keeping his eyes fixed upon him
while he rose with flushed face from the search to find the stump.
'What do you know about thought? Tell me what you hear about _that_--
what theories are held--what people believe about it. I mean thought-
transference, telepathy, or whatever it is called. Is it proved? Is it
a fact?'
His voice had lowered. There was mystery in his manner. He sat back in
his chair, picked up his pipe, replaced it in his mouth unlighted, and
waited.
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