She was certain, with a marked coldness.

“I should explain,” he added, “what I was really too cold and fatigued to do before, that I am an experimental investigator.”

“Indeed, sir,” said Mrs. Hall, much impressed.

“And my baggage contains apparatus and appliances.”

“Very useful things indeed they are, sir,” said Mrs. Hall.

“And I’m very naturally anxious to get on with my inquiries.”

“Of course, sir.”

“My reason for coming to Iping,” he proceeded, with a certain deliberation of manner, “was ... a desire for solitude.  I do not wish to be disturbed in my work.  In addition to my work, an accident—­”

“I thought as much,” said Mrs. Hall to herself.

“—­necessitates a certain retirement.  My eyes—­are sometimes so weak and painful that I have to shut myself up in the dark for hours together.  Lock myself up.  Sometimes—­now and then.  Not at present, certainly.  At such times the slightest disturbance, the entry of a stranger into the room, is a source of excruciating annoyance to me—­it is well these things should be understood.”

“Certainly, sir,” said Mrs. Hall.  “And if I might make so bold as to ask—­”

“That I think, is all,” said the stranger, with that quietly irresistible air of finality he could assume at will.  Mrs. Hall reserved her question and sympathy for a better occasion.

After Mrs. Hall had left the room, he remained standing in front of the fire, glaring, so Mr. Henfrey puts it, at the clock-mending.  Mr. Henfrey not only took off the hands of the clock, and the face, but extracted the works; and he tried to work in as slow and quiet and unassuming a manner as possible.  He worked with the lamp close to him, and the green shade threw a brilliant light upon his hands, and upon the frame and wheels, and left the rest of the room shadowy.  When he looked up, coloured patches swam in his eyes.  Being constitutionally of a curious nature, he had removed the works—­a quite unnecessary proceeding—­with the idea of delaying his departure and perhaps falling into conversation with the stranger.  But the stranger stood there, perfectly silent and still.  So still, it got on Henfrey’s nerves.  He felt alone in the room and looked up, and there, grey and dim, was the bandaged head and huge blue lenses staring fixedly, with a mist of green spots drifting in front of them.  It was so uncanny to Henfrey that for a minute they remained staring blankly at one another.  Then Henfrey looked down again.  Very uncomfortable position!  One would like to say something.  Should he remark that the weather was very cold for the time of year?

He looked up as if to take aim with that introductory shot.  “The weather—­” he began.

“Why don’t you finish and go?” said the rigid figure, evidently in a state of painfully suppressed rage.  “All you’ve got to do is to fix the hour-hand on its axle.  You’re simply humbugging—­”