“Of a what?”

“A nine-fingered man.”

“Well, I can’t say that I see anything remarkable in that.  I’ve got nine fingers myself, nine and one over, when it comes to that.”

“No, you haven’t, you duffer!” put in young Bawdrey, with a laugh.  “You’ve got eight fingers—­eight fingers and two thumbs.  This bony johnny has nine fingers and two thumbs.  That’s what makes him a freak.  I say, dad, open the beggar’s box, and let Rickaby see.”

His father obeyed the request.  Lifting the tiny brass latch which alone secured it, he swung open the glazed door of the case, and, reaching in, drew forward the flexible left arm of the skeleton.

“There you are,” he said, supporting the bony hand upon his palm, so that all its fingers were spread out and Cleek might get a clear view of the monstrosity.  “What a trial he must have been to the glove trade, mustn’t he?” laughing gaily.  “Fancy the confusion and dismay, Mr. Rickaby, if a fellow like this walked into a Bond Street shop in a hurry and asked for a pair of gloves.”

Cleek bent over and examined the thing with interest.  At first glance, the hand was no different from any other skeleton hand one might see any day in any place where they sold anatomical specimens for the use of members of the medical profession; but as Mr. Bawdrey, holding it on the palm of his right hand, flattened it out with the fingers of his left, the abnormality at once became apparent.  Springing from the base of the fourth finger, a perfectly developed fifth appeared, curling inward toward what had once been the palm of the hand, as though, in life, it had been the owner’s habit of screening it from observation by holding it in that position.  It was, however, perfectly flexible, and Mr. Bawdrey had no difficulty in making it lie out flat after the manner of its mates.

The sight was not inspiring—­the freaks of mother Nature rarely are.  No one but a doctor would have cared to accept the thing as a gift, and no one but a man as mad on the subject of curiosities and with as little sense of discrimination as Mr. Bawdrey would have dreamt for a moment of adding it to a collection.

“It’s rather uncanny,” said Cleek, who had no palate for the abnormal in Nature.  “For myself, I may frankly admit that I don’t like things of that sort about me.”

“You are very much like my wife in that,” responded the old man.  “She was of the opinion that the skeleton ought to have been destroyed or else handed over to some anatomical museum.  But—­well, it is a curiosity, you know, Mr. Rickaby.  Besides, as I have said, it was once the property of her late father, a most learned man, sir, most learned, and as it was of sufficient interest for him to retain it—­oh, well, we collectors are faddists, you know, so I easily persuaded Mrs. Bawdrey to allow me to bring it over to England with me when we took our leave of Java.  And now that you have seen it, suppose we have a look at more artistic things.  I have some very fine specimens of neolithic implements and weapons which I am most anxious to show you.  Just step this way, please.”