frosted labels, bottles with fine corks, bottles with bungs, bottles with wooden caps, wine bottles, salad-oil bottles—­putting them in rows on the chiffonnier, on the mantel, on the table under the window, round the floor, on the bookshelf—­everywhere.  The chemist’s shop in Bramblehurst could not boast half so many.  Quite a sight it was.  Crate after crate yielded bottles, until all six were empty and the table high with straw; the only things that came out of these crates besides the bottles were a number of test-tubes and a carefully packed balance.

And directly the crates were unpacked, the stranger went to the window and set to work, not troubling in the least about the litter of straw, the fire which had gone out, the box of books outside, nor for the trunks and other luggage that had gone upstairs.

When Mrs. Hall took his dinner in to him, he was already so absorbed in his work, pouring little drops out of the bottles into test-tubes, that he did not hear her until she had swept away the bulk of the straw and put the tray on the table, with some little emphasis perhaps, seeing the state that the floor was in.  Then he half turned his head and immediately turned it away again.  But she saw he had removed his glasses; they were beside him on the table, and it seemed to her that his eye sockets were extraordinarily hollow.  He put on his spectacles again, and then turned and faced her.  She was about to complain of the straw on the floor when he anticipated her.

“I wish you wouldn’t come in without knocking,” he said in the tone of abnormal exasperation that seemed so characteristic of him.

“I knocked, but seemingly—­”

“Perhaps you did.  But in my investigations—­my really very urgent and necessary investigations—­the slightest disturbance, the jar of a door—­I must ask you—­”

“Certainly, sir.  You can turn the lock if you’re like that, you know.  Any time.”

“A very good idea,” said the stranger.

“This stror, sir, if I might make so bold as to remark—­”

“Don’t.  If the straw makes trouble put it down in the bill.”  And he mumbled at her—­words suspiciously like curses.

He was so odd, standing there, so aggressive and explosive, bottle in one hand and test-tube in the other, that Mrs. Hall was quite alarmed.  But she was a resolute woman.  “In which case, I should like to know, sir, what you consider—­”

“A shilling—­put down a shilling.  Surely a shilling’s enough?”

“So be it,” said Mrs. Hall, taking up the table-cloth and beginning to spread it over the table.  “If you’re satisfied, of course—­”

He turned and sat down, with his coat-collar toward her.

All the afternoon he worked with the door locked and, as Mrs. Hall testifies, for the most part in silence.  But once there was a concussion and a sound of bottles ringing together as though the table had been hit, and the smash of a bottle flung violently down, and then a rapid pacing athwart the room.  Fearing “something was the matter,” she went to the door and listened, not caring to knock.