‘Has he just been wasting his time, then, all these years?’

’He goes in for science—­laboratory work, evolutionary speculations.  Of course I can’t judge his progress in such matters; but Moxey, a clever man in the same line, thinks very highly of him.’

’Just the fellow to travel with.  I want to get hold of some solid scientific ideas, but I haven’t the patience to work steadily.  A confounded fault of mine, you know, Earwaker,—­want of patience.  You must have noticed it?’

‘Oh—­well, now and then, perhaps.’

’Yes, yes; but of course I know myself better.  And now tell me about Moxey.  A married man, of course?’

‘No, lives with a sister.’

‘Unmarried sister?—­Brains?’

‘Pretty well supplied with that commodity.’

’You must introduce me to her.  I do like women with brains.—­ Orthodox or enlightened?’

‘Bitterly enlightened.’

’Really?  Magnificent!  Oh, I must know her.  Nothing like an emancipated woman!  How any man can marry the ordinary female passes my understanding.  What do you think?’

’My opinions are in suspense; not yet precipitated, as Peak might say.’

One o’clock sounded from neighbouring churches, but Malkin was wide awake as ever.  He entered upon a detailed narrative of his travels, delightful to listen to, so oddly blended were the strains of conscious and unconscious humour which marked his personality.  Two o’clock; three o’clock;—­he would have talked till breakfast-time, but at last Earwaker declared that the hour had come for sleep.  As Malkin had taken a room at the Inns of Court Hotel, it was easy for him to repair to his quarters.  The last his friend heard of him was an unexplained laugh, echoing far down the staircase.

CHAPTER II

Peak’s destination was Peckham Rye.  On quitting the railway, he had a walk of some ten minutes along a road which smelt of new bricks and stucco heated by the summer sun; an obscure passage led him into a street partly of dwelling-houses, partly of shops, the latter closed.  He paused at the side door of one over which the street lamp dimly revealed—­’Button, Herbalist’.

His latch-key admitted him to total darkness, but he moved forward with the confidence of long use.  He softly ascended two flights of stairs, opened a door, struck a match, and found himself in a comfortable sitting-room, soon illumined by a reading-lamp.  The atmosphere, as throughout the house, was strongly redolent of dried simples.  Anyone acquainted with the characteristics of furnished lodgings must have surmised that Peak dwelt here among his own moveables, and was indebted to the occupier of the premises for bare walls alone; the tables and chairs, though plain enough, were such as civilisation permits; and though there were no pictures, sundry ornaments here and there made strong denial of lodging-house affinity.  It was at once laboratory, study, and dwelling-room.  Two large cabinets, something the worse for transportation, alone formed a link between this abode and the old home at Twybridge.  Books were not numerous, and a good microscope seemed to be the only scientific instrument of much importance.  On door-pegs hung a knapsack, a botanist’s vasculum, and a geologist’s wallet.