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Of course I need hardly say she put the whole thing down to the effects
of a warm； drowsy afternoon and the Legation champagne。 Now
comes the astonishing part of my story。 A fortnight later a bank
manager was stabbed to death with a swordstick in that very part of the
Bois。 His assassin was the son of a charwoman formerly working at
the bank； who had been dismissed from her job by the manager on
account of chronic intemperance。 His name was Henri Leturc。〃
From that moment Blenkinthrope was tacitly accepted as the
Munchausen of the party。 No effort was spared to draw him out from
day to day in the exercise of testing their powers of credulity； and
Blenkinthrope； in the false security of an assured and receptive audience；
waxed industrious and ingenious in supplying the demand for marvels。
Duckby's satirical story of a tame otter that had a tank in the garden to
swim in； and whined restlessly whenever the water…rate was overdue；
was scarcely an unfair parody of some of Blenkinthrope's wilder
efforts。 And then one day came Nemesis。
Returning to his villa one evening Blenkinthrope found his wife
sitting in front of a pack of cards； which she was scrutinising with
unusual concentration。
〃The same old patience…game？〃 he asked carelessly。
〃No； dear； this is the Death's Head patience； the most difficult of
them all。 I've never got it to work out； and somehow I should be rather
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frightened if I did。 Mother only got it out once in her life； she was
afraid of it； too。 Her great…aunt had done it once and fallen dead from
excitement the next moment； and mother always had a feeling that she
would die if she ever got it out。 She died the same night that she did it。
She was in bad health at the time； certainly； but it was a strange
coincidence。〃
〃Don't do it if it frightens you；〃 was Blenkinthrope's practical
comment as he left the room。 A few minutes later his wife called to
him。
〃John； it gave me such a turn； I nearly got it out。 Only the five of
diamonds held me up at the end。 I really thought I'd done it。〃
〃Why； you can do it；〃 said Blenkinthrope； who had come back to the
room； 〃if you shift the eight of clubs on to that open nine the five can be
moved on to the six。〃
His wife made the suggested move with hasty； trembling fingers； and
piled the outstanding cards on to their respective packs。 Then she
followed the example of her mother and great…grand…aunt。
Blenkinthrope had been genuinely fond of his wife； but in the midst
of his bereavement one dominant thought obtruded itself。 Something
sensational and real had at last come into his life； no longer was it a grey；
colourless record。 The headlines which might appropriately describe
his domestic tragedy kept shaping themselves in his brain。 〃Inherited
presentiment comes true。〃 〃The Death's Head patience： Card…game
that justified its sinister name in three generations。〃 He wrote out a
full story of the fatal occurrence for the ESSEX VEDETTE； the editor of
which was a friend of his； and to another friend he gave a condensed
account； to be taken up to the office of one of the halfpenny dailies。
But in both cases his reputation as a romancer stood fatally in the way of
the fulfilment of his ambitions。 〃Not the right thing to be
Munchausening in a time of sorrow〃 agreed his friends among
themselves； and a brief note of regret at the 〃sudden death of the wife of
our respected neighbour； Mr。 John Blenkinthrope； from heart failure；〃
appearing in the news column of the local paper was the forlorn outcome
of his visions of widespread publicity。
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Blenkinthrope shrank from the society of his erstwhile travelling
companions and took to travelling townwards by an earlier train。 He
sometimes tries to enlist the sympathy and attention of a chance
acquaintance in details of the whistling prowess of his best canary or the
dimensions of his largest beetroot； he scarcely recognises himself as the
man who was once spoken about and pointed out as the owner of the
Seventh Pullet。
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THE BLIND SPOT
〃YOU'VE just come back from Adelaide's funeral； haven't you？〃
said Sir Lulworth to his nephew； 〃I suppose it was very like most other
funerals？〃
〃I'll tell you all about it at lunch；〃 said Egbert。
〃You'll do nothing of the sort。 It wouldn't be respectful either to
your great…aunt's memory or to the lunch。 We begin with Spanish
olives； then a borshch； then more olives and a bird of some kind； and a
rather enticing Rhenish wine； not at all expensive as wines go in this
country； but still quite laudable in its way。 Now there's absolutely
nothing in that menu that harmonises in the least with the subject of your
great… aunt Adelaide or her funeral。 She was a charming woman； and
quite as intelligent as she had any need to be； but somehow she always
reminded me of an English cook's idea of a Madras curry。〃
〃She used to say you were frivolous；〃 said Egbert。 Something in his
tone suggested that he rather endorsed the verdict。
〃I believe I once considerably scandalised her by declaring that clear
soup was a more important factor in life than a clear conscience。 She
had very little sense of proportion