An old man was sitting alone in a small room. He was at a table facing the door; behind him was another door. The walls were bare of pictures: the table was a large one, and it was almost completely covered with a set of Tarot cards. The old man was moving them very carefully from place to place, making little notes on a sheet of paper, and sometimes consulting an old manuscript book that lay by him. He was so absorbed that he did not hear the step outside, and it was not till the door opened that he looked up with a sudden exclamation. Henry Lee came lightly into the room.
‘Why, Henry!’ the old man said. Henry looked at the table, let his eyes run over the whole arrangement of the cards, and smiled.
‘Still no nearer, grandfather?’ he asked.
‘Nearer? No, no, not nearer yet, ‘ his grandfather answered. ‘Not quite, yet awhile. But I shall do it.’ He sighed a little. ‘I keep the account very carefully, ‘ he said, ‘and some day I shall do it. I spend all my time on it.’
Henry nodded towards the other door. ‘And—they?’ he asked, lowering his voice a trifle.
‘Yes, ‘ the old man said. ‘I watch them too. But, you know—it’s too difficult. But I must do it at last. You’re not… you’re not coming back to help me, are you?’
‘Why, I may even do that, ‘ Henry said, taking off his motoring-coat.
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