Edgar Wallace

“ T. X. made a gesture of despair.
"That is one of the mysteries which may never be revealed to me, except—" he pursed his lips and looked thoughtfully at the girl. "There are times," he said, "when there is a great struggle going on inside a man between all the human and better part of him and the baser professional part of him. One side of me wants to hear this lecture of John Lexman's very much, the other shrinks from the ordeal." ”

“ Her eyes were sparkling with an unusual brightness.
"I've got the most wonderful thing to tell you," she said, "and I can't tell you."
"That's a very good beginning," said T. X., taking her muff from her hand.
"Oh, but it's really wonderful," she cried eagerly, "more wonderful than anything you have ever heard about."
"We are interested," said T. X. blandly.
"No, no, you mustn't make fun," she begged, "I can't tell you now, but it is something that will make you simply—" she was at a loss for a simile.
"Jump out of my skin?" ”

“ She bent her head.
"Lexman's the writer of a great many mystery stories, but you've probably read his books."
She nodded again, and again T. X. noticed the suppressed eagerness in her eyes.
"You're not ill or sickening for anything, are you?" he asked anxiously; "measles, or mumps or something?"
"Don't be silly," she said; "go on and tell me something about Mr. Lexman."
"He's going to America," said T. X., "and before he goes he wants to give a little lecture."
"A lecture?" ”