“Yes, yes, of course, it is I....  Yes, certainly, the Professor Challenger, the famous Professor, who else?...  Of course, every word of it, otherwise I should not have written it....  I shouldn’t be surprised....  There is every indication of it....  Within a day or so at the furthest....  Well, I can’t help that, can I?...  Very unpleasant, no doubt, but I rather fancy it will affect more important people than you.  There is no use whining about it....  No, I couldn’t possibly.  You must take your chance....  That’s enough, sir.  Nonsense!  I have something more important to do than to listen to such twaddle.”

He shut off with a crash and led us upstairs into a large airy apartment which formed his study.  On the great mahogany desk seven or eight unopened telegrams were lying.

“Really,” he said as he gathered them up, “I begin to think that it would save my correspondents’ money if I were to adopt a telegraphic address.  Possibly `Noah, Rotherfield,’ would be the most appropriate.”

As usual when he made an obscure joke, he leaned against the desk and bellowed in a paroxysm of laughter, his hands shaking so that he could hardly open the envelopes.

“Noah!  Noah!” he gasped, with a face of beetroot, while Lord John and I smiled in sympathy and Summerlee, like a dyspeptic goat, wagged his head in sardonic disagreement.  Finally Challenger, still rumbling and exploding, began to open his telegrams.  The three of us stood in the bow window and occupied ourselves in admiring the magnificent view.

It was certainly worth looking at.  The road in its gentle curves had really brought us to a considerable elevation—­seven hundred feet, as we afterwards discovered.  Challenger’s house was on the very edge of the hill, and from its southern face, in which was the study window, one looked across the vast stretch of the weald to where the gentle curves of the South Downs formed an undulating horizon.  In a cleft of the hills a haze of smoke marked the position of Lewes.  Immediately at our feet there lay a rolling plain of heather, with the long, vivid green stretches of the Crowborough golf course, all dotted with the players.  A little to the south, through an opening in the woods, we could see a section of the main line from London to Brighton.  In the immediate foreground, under our very noses, was a small enclosed yard, in which stood the car which had brought us from the station.

An ejaculation from Challenger caused us to turn.  He had read his telegrams and had arranged them in a little methodical pile upon his desk.  His broad, rugged face, or as much of it as was visible over the matted beard, was still deeply flushed, and he seemed to be under the influence of some strong excitement.

“Well, gentlemen,” he said, in a voice as if he was addressing a public meeting, “this is indeed an interesting reunion, and it takes place under extraordinary—­I may say unprecedented—­circumstances.  May I ask if you have observed anything upon your journey from town?”