Out of the bewildering confusion of his effects Rivarol produced two pipes and filled them.  He handed one to me.

“And here,” he said, “I live and am tolerably comfortable.  When my coat wears out at the elbows I seek the tailor and am measured for another.  When I am hungry I promenade myself to the butcher’s and bring home a pound or so of steak, which I cook very nicely in three seconds by this oxy-hydrogen flame.  Thirsty, perhaps, I send for a carboy of Aqua fortis.  But I have it charged, all charged.  My spirit is above any small pecuniary transaction.  I loathe your dirty greenbacks, and never handle what they call scrip.”

“But are you never pestered with bills?” I asked.  “Don’t the creditors worry your life out?”

“Creditors!” gasped Rivarol.  “I have learned no such word in your very admirable language.  He who will allow his soul to be vexed by creditors is a relic of an imperfect civilization.  Of what use is science if it cannot avail a man who has accounts current?  Listen.  The moment you or any one else enters the outside door this little electric bell sounds me warning.  Every successive step on Mrs. Grimier’s staircase is a spy and informer vigilant for my benefit.  The first step is trod upon.  That trusty first step immediately telegraphs your weight.  Nothing could be simpler.  It is exactly like any platform scale.  The weight is registered up here upon this dial.  The second step records the size of my visitor’s feet.  The third his height, the fourth his complexion, and so on.  By the time he reaches the top of the first flight I have a pretty accurate description of him right here at my elbow, and quite a margin of time for deliberation and action.  Do you follow me?  It is plain enough.  Only the A B C of my science.”

“I see all that,” I said, “but I don’t see how it helps you any.  The knowledge that a creditor is coming won’t pay his bill.  You can’t escape unless you jump out of the window.”

Rivarol laughed softly.  “I will tell you.  You shall see what becomes of any poor devil who goes to demand money of me—­of a man of science.  Ha! ha!  It pleases me.  I was seven weeks perfecting my Dun Suppressor.  Did you know”—­he whispered exultingly—­“did you know that there is a hole through the earth’s centre?  Physicists have long suspected it; I was the first to find it.  You have read how Rhuyghens, the Dutch navigator, discovered in Kerguellen’s Land an abysmal pit which fourteen hundred fathoms of plumb-line failed to sound.  Herr Tom, that hole has no bottom!  It runs from one surface of the earth to the antipodal surface.  It is diametric.  But where is the antipodal spot?  You stand upon it.  I learned this by the merest chance.  I was deep-digging in Mrs. Grimler’s cellar, to bury a poor cat I had sacrificed in a galvanic experiment, when the earth under my spade crumbled, caved in, and wonder-stricken I stood upon the brink of a yawning shaft.  I