The law permits us to shoot a burglar who goes through our pockets at
night. Must he tolerate the ravages of this a thousand times more
dastardly and dangerous spiritual thief? Was Reginald to enjoy the fruit
of other men's labour unpunished? Was he to continue growing into the
mightiest literary factor of the century by preying upon his betters?
Abel, Walkham, Ethel, he, Jack, were they all to be victims of this
insatiable monster?
Was this force resistless as it was relentless?
No, a thousand times, no!
He dashed himself against the wall at the place where the shadow of
Reginald Clarke had disappeared. In doing so he touched upon a secret
spring. The wall gave way noiselessly. Speechless with rage he crossed
the next room and the one adjoining it, and stood in Reginald's studio.
The room was brilliantly lighted, and Reginald, still dressed, was
seated at his writing-table scribbling notes upon little scraps of paper
in his accustomed manner.
At Ernest's approach he looked up without evincing the least sign of
terror or surprise.
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