Out in Wansey Way they found that evening had come to Araminta Station. Bodwyn Wook halted, and for a moment stood pondering.
"I would like to clear this matter up now, at this very instant--but the time is late, and tomorrow will do as well. Tomorrow at noon it shall be. I will issue the necessary instructions after we take our supper."
The two dined alone in Bodwyn Wook's chambers. Glawen told of his interview with Floreste.
"I left him, as usual, with my head spinning. I asked him in regard to Simonetta's other name, thinking of Madame Zigonie on Rosalia. Floreste was extremely perturbed:
who would dare tell me such secret information. He must know her by another name. Who could it be, that would cause him such excitement?
"Then again: he will write what he knows about my father, but I may not read the material until after he is dead. I tried to learn his reasons; he would not tell me. I am confused! Where is the difference?"
"It is not all that confusing," said Bodwyn Wook.
"There is the notable difference of an entire day, during which much can happen."
"That must be the reason," said Glawen.
"I am ashamed to be so dense. And since a day makes no difference to Floreste, the time must be important to someone else. Who?"
"We will watch events with great care and be ready for anything."
Hallway through the following morning Glawen went to the jail, to find Floreste closeted with Dame Skellane Laverty.
Neither seemed pleased when he entered the cell.
Floreste waved toward the door.
"As you see I am conferring with Dame Skellane."
Glawen asked: "What of the information you were to prepare for me?"
"It is not ready. Come back later!"
"There is not much 'later' left. Time is getting short."
"I need no reminders! I think often of this fact."
Glawen addressed Dame Skellane.
"Please don't distract him.
If he doesn't do his work you will see none of his money. I will cruise the Reach in my space yacht, and you will whistle for the new Orpheum."
"Truly, that is crass language!" cried Dame Skellane in a passion.
"I am shocked!" She turned to Floreste.
"It seems that we must abbreviate our little chat, which I had hoped might comfort you."
"My fate is upon me, dear lady! I must obey this saturnine young Clattuc, and reveal all my secrets. Glawen, come back later! I am not yet ready for you. Dame Skellane, you must excuse me."
Dame Skellane turned angrily upon Glawen.
"You should not hector poor Floreste during the last hours of his life! You should soothe and console him."
"In Floreste's case the only remedy is time," said Glawen.
"In thirty years his crimes will be forgotten and everyone will think him a saintly old martyr. What a fine joke! He would cut your throat on this instant if he thought he could gain his liberty or save himself a hundred sols."
Dame Skellane turned to Floreste.
"How can you tolerate this abuse so placidly?"
"Because, my dear, it is true. The first and most noble function of life is art! My own art, in particular. I am a mighty vehicle which careens across the cosmos bearing a precious if frangible cargo. Should anything impede my progress, or my existence, or my convenience, or my account at the Bank of Mircea, it must yield or be overridden by my trundling wheels!
"Ars gratia artis': that was a favorite dictum of the poet Navarth. And there you have it!"
"Oh, Floreste, I will never believe such things."
Glawen went to the door.
"Come, Dame Skellane, we must go."
Dame Skellane had a final word for Floreste: "At least I have restored you to your normal high spirits!"
"Quite so, dear lady! Thanks to you, I will die happy."
At noon Bodwyn Wook entered his office. Looking neither right nor left, he marched to his black tall-backed chair and seated himself. Finally he allowed himself to survey the occupants of the room.
