Chilcote, watching him furtively, obeyed the gesture and sat down.

“It is extraordinary!” he said, as if unable to dismiss the subject.  “It—­it is quite extraordinary!”

The other glanced round.  “Let’s drop it,” he said.  “It’s so confoundedly obvious.”  Then his tone changed.  “Won’t you smoke?” he asked.

“Thanks.”  Chilcote began to fumble for his cigarettes.

But his host forestalled him.  Taking a box from the mantel-piece, he held it out.

“My one extravagance!” he said, ironically.  “My resources bind me to one; and I think I have made a wise selection.  It is about the only vice we haven’t to pay for six times over.”  He glanced sharply at the face so absurdly like his own, then, lighting a fresh spill, offered his guest a light.

Chilcote moistened his cigarette and leaned forward.  In the flare of the paper his face looked set and anxious, but Loder saw that the lips did not twitch as they had done on the previous occasion that he had given him a light, and a look of comprehension crossed his eyes.

“What will you drink?  Or, rather, will you have a whiskey?  I keep nothing else.  Hospitality is one of the debarred luxuries.”

Chilcote shook his head.  “I seldom drink.  But don’t let that deter you.”

Loder smiled.  “I have one drink in the twenty-four hours —­generally at two o’clock, when my night’s work is done.  A solitary man has to look where he is going.”

“You work till two?”

“Two—­or three.”

Chilcote’s eyes wandered to the desk.  “You write?” he asked.

The other nodded curtly.

“Books?” Chilcote’s tone was anxious.

Loder laughed, and the bitter note showed in his voice.

“No—­not books,” he said.

Chilcote leaned back in his chair and passed his hand across his face.  The strong wave of satisfaction that the words woke in him was difficult to conceal.

“What is your work?”

Loder turned aside.  “You must not ask that,” he said, shortly.  “When a man has only one capacity, and the capacity has no outlet, he is apt to run to seed in a wrong direction.  I cultivate weeds—­at abominable labor and a very small reward.”  He stood with his back to the fire, facing his visitor; his attitude was a curious blending of pride, defiance, and despondency.

Chilcote leaned forward again.  “Why speak of yourself like that?  You are a man of intelligence and education.”  He spoke questioningly, anxiously.

“Intelligence and education!” Loder laughed shortly.  “London is cemented with intelligence.  And education!  What is education?  The court dress necessary to presentation, the wig and gown necessary to the barrister.  But do the wig and gown necessarily mean briefs?  Or the court dress royal favor?  Education is the accessory; it is influence that is essential.  You should know that.”