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“Yes, at the time it was written.”

Here Rosalie laughed again triumphantly.

“That shows you don’t know the book I’m talking about at all. The man who wrote it lived hundreds of years ago. Quite three hundred, I should say.”

“At that rate I must be mistaken. Then if you are so fond of travel and biography, I have some volumes here all on that subject, written, too, about the time you speak of. You will have a great deal of time lie heavy on your hands; perhaps you would like some?”

Rosalie looked dubious, and her eyes travelled to the imposing-looking book-shelves.

“I never found anyone quite to come up to Ally Krimjo,” she replied regretfully.

“You refuse my offer?”

“Not if you give me something interesting. But as a rule I don’t like biographies, because the people always die. Now, Ally Krimjo—”

“You’re quite right,” said Mr. Barringcourt grimly. “Ally Krimjo hasn’t died, so he deserves to live. Have you the Book of Divine Inspiration?”

“Oh, yes! I don’t suppose there’s anyone without that?”