“Very well,” Burton assented.

“And one bean?” the professor begged.  “Leave me one bean only?  I promise not to eat it, not to dissect it, not to subject it to experiments of any sort.  Let me just have it to look at, to be sure that what you have told me is not an hallucination.”

Burton shook his head.

“I dare not part with one.  I am going straight back to test the leaf theory.  If it is correct, I will keep my promise.  And—­will you remember me to Miss Edith when she returns, professor?”

“To Miss Edith?  Yes, yes, of course,” Mr. Cowper declared, impatiently.  “When shall you be down again, my young friend?” he went on earnestly.  “I want to hear more of your experiences.  I want you to tell me the whole thing over again.  I should like to get a signed statement from you.  There are several points in connection with what you say, which bear out a favorite theory of mine.”

“I will come in a few days, if I may,” Burton assured him.

The professor walked with his guest to the front door.  He seemed reluctant to let him go.

“Take care of yourself, Mr. Burton,” he enjoined.  “Yours is a precious life.  On no account subject yourself to any risks.  Be careful of the crossings.  Don’t expose yourself to inclement weather.  Keep away from any place likely to harbor infectious disease.  I should very much like to have a meeting in London of a few of my friends, if I could ensure your presence.”

“When I come down again,” Burton promised, “we will discuss it.”

He shook hands and hurried away.  In less than an hour and a half he was in Mr. Waddington’s rooms.  The latter had just arrived from the office.

“Mr. Waddington,” Burton exclaimed, “the little tree on which the beans grew—­where is it?”

Mr. Waddington was taken aback.

“But I picked all the beans,” he replied.  “There were only the leaves left.”

“Never mind that!” Burton cried.  “It is the leaves we want!  The tree—­where is it?  Quick!  I want to feel myself absolutely safe.”

Mr. Waddington’s face was blank.

“You have heard the translation of those sheets?”

“I have,” Burton answered hastily.  “I will tell you all about it directly—­as soon as you have brought me the tree.”

Mr. Waddington had turned a little pale.

“I gave it to a child in the street, on my way home from Idlemay House,” he declared.  “There was no sign of any more beans coming and I had more than enough to carry.”

Burton sank into a chair and groaned.

“We are lost,” he exclaimed, “unless you can find that child!  Our cure is only temporary.  We need a leaf each from the tree.  I have only eight months and two weeks more!”

Mr. Waddington staggered to a seat.  He produced his own beans and counted them eagerly.

“A little under eleven months!” he muttered.  “We must find the tree!”