CHAPTER XVIII
THE APOTHEOSIS OF THE BEETLE
The laboratory door was closed. The stranger was standing a foot or twoaway from it. I was further within the room, and was subjecting him toas keen a scrutiny as circumstances permitted. Beyond doubt he wasconscious of my observation, yet he bore himself with an air ofindifference, which was suggestive of perfect unconcern. The fellow wasoriental to the finger-tips,--that much was certain; yet in spite of apretty wide personal knowledge of oriental people I could not make upmy mind as to the exact part of the east from which he came. He washardly an Arab, he was not a fellah,--he was not, unless I erred, aMohammedan at all. There was something about him which was distinctlynot Mussulmanic. So far as looks were concerned, he was not aflattering example of his race, whatever his race might be. Theportentous size of his beak-like nose would have been, in itself,sufficient to damn him in any court of beauty. His lips were thick andshapeless,--and this, joined to another peculiarity in his appearance,seemed to suggest that, in his veins there ran more than a streak ofnegro blood. The peculiarity alluded to was his semblance of great age.As one eyed him one was reminded of the legends told of people who havebeen supposed to have retained something of their pristine vigour afterhaving lived for centuries. As, however, one continued to gaze, onebegan to wonder if he really was so old as he seemed,--if, indeed, hewas exceptionally old at all. Negroes, and especially negresses, areapt to age with extreme rapidity. Among coloured folk one sometimesencounters women whose faces seem to have been lined by the passage ofcenturies, yet whose actual tale of years would entitle them to regardthemselves, here in England, as in the prime of life. The senility ofthe fellow's countenance, besides, was contradicted by the juvenescenceof his eyes. No really old man could have had eyes like that. They werecuriously shaped, reminding me of the elongated, faceted eyes of somequeer creature, with whose appearance I was familiar, although I couldnot, at the instant, recall its name. They glowed not only with theforce and fire, but, also, with the frenzy of youth. Moreuncanny-looking eyes I had never encountered,--their possessor couldnot be, in any sense of the word, a clubable person. Owing, probably,to some peculiar formation of the optic-nerve one felt, as one met hisgaze, that he was looking right through you. More obvious dangersignals never yet were placed in a creature's head. The individual who,having once caught sight of him, still sought to cultivate theirowner's acquaintance, had only himself to thank if the very worstresults of frequenting evil company promptly ensued.
It happens that I am myself endowed with an unusual tenacity of vision.I could, for instance, easily outstare any man I ever met. Yet, as Icontinued to stare at this man, I was conscious that it was only by aneffort of will that I was able to resist a baleful something whichseemed to be passing from his eyes to mine. It might have beenimagination, but, in that sense, I am not an imaginative man; and, ifit was, it was imagination of an unpleasantly vivid kind. I couldunderstand how, in the case of a nervous, or a sensitive temperament,the fellow might exercise, by means of the peculiar quality of hisglance alone, an influence of a most disastrous sort, which given anappropriate subject in the manifestation of its power might approachalmost to the supernatural. If ever man was endowed with thetraditional evil eye, in which Italians, among modern nations, are suchprofound believers, it was he.
When we had stared at each other for, I daresay, quite five minutes, Ibegan to think I had had about enough of it. So, by way of breaking theice, I put to him a question.
'May I ask how you found your way into my back yard?'
He did not reply in words, but, raising his hands he lowered them,palms downward, with a gesture which was peculiarly oriental.
'Indeed?--Is that so?--Your meaning may be lucidity itself to you, but,for my benefit, perhaps you would not mind translating it into words.Once more I ask, how did you find your way into my back yard?'
Again nothing but the gesture.
'Possibly you are not sufficiently acquainted with English manners andcustoms to be aware that you have placed yourself within reach of thepains and penalties of the law. Were I to call in the police you wouldfind yourself in an awkward situation,--and, unless you are presentlymore explanatory, called in they will be.'
By way of answer he indulged in a distortion of the countenance whichmight have been meant for a smile,--and which seemed to suggest that heregarded the police with a contempt which was too great for words.
'Why do you laugh--do you think that being threatened with the policeis a joke? You are not likely to find it so.--Have you suddenly beenbereft of the use of your tongue?'
He proved that he had not by using it.
'I have still the use of my tongue.'
'That, at least, is something. Perhaps, since the subject of how yougot into my back yard seems to be a delicate one, you will tell me whyyou got there.'
'You know why I have come.'
'Pardon me if I appear to flatly contradict you, but that is preciselywhat I do not know.'
'You do know.'
'Do I?--Then, in that case, I presume that you are here for the reasonwhich appears upon the surface,--to commit a felony.'
'You call me thief?'
'What else are you?'
'I am no thief.--You know why I have come.'
He raised his head a little. A look came into his eyes which I feltthat I ought to understand, yet to the meaning of which I seemed, forthe instant, to have mislaid the key. I shrugged my shoulders.
'I have come because you wanted me.'
'Because I wanted you!--On my word!--That's sublime!'
'All night you have wanted me,--do I not know? When she talked to youof him, and the blood boiled in your veins; when he spoke, and all thepeople listened, and you hated him, because he had honour in her eyes.'
I was startled. Either he meant what it appeared incredible that hecould mean, or--there was confusion somewhere.
'Take my advice, my friend, and don't try to come the bunco-steererover me,--I'm a bit in that line myself, you know.'
This time the score was mine,--he was puzzled.
'I know not what you talk of.'
'In that case, we're equal,--I know not what you talk of either.'
His manner, for him, was childlike and bland.
'What is it you do not know? This morning did I not say,--if you wantme, then I come?'
'I fancy I have some faint recollection of your being so good as to saysomething of the kind, but--where's the application?'
'Do you not feel for him the same as I?'
'Who's the him?'
'Paul Lessingham.'
It was spoken quietly, but with a degree of--to put itgently--spitefulness which showed that at least the will to do theApostle harm would not be lacking.
'And, pray, what is the common feeling which we have for him?'
'Hate.'
Plainly, with this gentleman, hate meant hate,--in the solid orientalsense. I should hardly have been surprised if the mere utterance of thewords had seared his lips.
'I am by no means prepared to admit that I have this feeling which youattribute to me, but, even granting that I have, what then?'
'Those who hate are kin.'
'That, also, I should be slow to admit; but--to go a step farther--whathas all this to do with your presence on my premises at this hour ofthe night?'
'You love her.' This time I did not ask him to supply the name,--beingunwilling that it should be soiled by the traffic of his lips. 'Sheloves him,--that is not well. If you choose, she shall love you,--thatwill be well.'
'Indeed.--And pray how is this consummation which is so devoutly to bedesired to be brought about?'
'Put your hand into mine. Say that you wish it. It shall be done.'
Moving a step forward, he stretched out his hand towards me. Ihesitated. There was that in the fellow's manner which, for the moment,had for me an unwholesome fascination. Memories flashed through my mindof stupid stories which have been told of compacts made with the devil
.I almost felt as if I was standing in the actual presence of one of thepowers of evil. I thought of my love for Marjorie,--which had revealeditself after all these years; of the delight of holding her in my arms,of feeling the pressure of her lips to mine. As my gaze met his, thelower side of what the conquest of this fair lady would mean, burned inmy brain; fierce imaginings blazed before my eyes. To win her,--only towin her!
What nonsense he was talking! What empty brag it was! Suppose, just forthe sake of the joke, I did put my hand in his, and did wish, rightout, what it was plain he knew. If I wished, what harm would it do! Itwould be the purest jest. Out of his own mouth he would be confounded,for it was certain that nothing would come of it. Why should I not doit then?
I would act on his suggestion,--I would carry the thing right through.Already I was advancing towards him, when--I stopped. I don't know why.On the instant, my thoughts went off at a tangent.
What sort of a blackguard did I call myself that I should take awoman's name in vain for the sake of playing fool's tricks with suchscum of the earth as the hideous vagabond in front of me,--and that thename of the woman whom I loved? Rage took hold of me.
'You hound!' I cried.
In my sudden passage from one mood to another, I was filled with thedesire to shake the life half out of him. But so soon as I moved a stepin his direction, intending war instead of peace, he altered theposition of his hand, holding it out towards me as if forbidding myapproach. Directly he did so, quite involuntarily, I pulled updead,--as if my progress had been stayed by bars of iron and walls ofsteel.
For the moment, I was astonished to the verge of stupefaction. Thesensation was peculiar. I was as incapable of advancing another inch inhis direction as if I had lost the use of my limbs,--I was evenincapable of attempting to attempt to advance. At first I could onlystare and gape. Presently I began to have an inkling of what hadhappened.
The scoundrel had almost succeeded in hypnotising me.
That was a nice thing to happen to a man of my sort at my time of life.A shiver went down my back,--what might have occurred if I had notpulled up in time! What pranks might a creature of that character nothave been disposed to play. It was the old story of the peril ofplaying with edged tools; I had made the dangerous mistake ofunderrating the enemy's strength. Evidently, in his own line, thefellow was altogether something out of the usual way.
I believe that even as it was he thought he had me. As I turned away,and leaned against the table at my back, I fancy that he shivered,--asif this proof of my being still my own master was unexpected. I wassilent,--it took some seconds to enable me to recover from the shock ofthe discovery of the peril in which I had been standing. Then Iresolved that I would endeavour to do something which should make meequal to this gentleman of many talents.
'Take my advice, my friend, and don't attempt to play that hankeypankey off on to me again.'
'I don't know what you talk of.'
'Don't lie to me,--or I'll burn you into ashes.'
Behind me was an electrical machine, giving an eighteen inch spark. Itwas set in motion by a lever fitted into the table, which I couldeasily reach from where I sat. As I spoke the visitor was treated to alittle exhibition of electricity. The change in his bearing wasamusing. He shook with terror. He salaamed down to the ground.
'My lord!--my lord!--have mercy, oh my lord!'
'Then you be careful, that's all. You may suppose yourself to besomething of a magician, but it happens, unfortunately for you, that Ican do a bit in that line myself,--perhaps I'm a trifle better at thegame than you are. Especially as you have ventured into my stronghold,which contains magic enough to make a show of a hundred thousand suchas you.'
Taking down a bottle from a shelf, I sprinkled a drop or two of itscontents on the floor. Immediately flames arose, accompanied by ablinding vapour. It was a sufficiently simple illustration of one ofthe qualities of phosphorous-bromide, but its effect upon my visitorwas as startling as it was unexpected. If I could believe the evidenceof my own eyesight, in the very act of giving utterance to a scream ofterror he disappeared, how, or why, or whither, there was nothing toshow,--in his place, where he had been standing, there seemed to be adim object of some sort in a state of frenzied agitation on the floor.The phosphorescent vapour was confusing; the lights appeared to besuddenly burning low; before I had sense enough to go and see if therewas anything there, and, if so, what, the flames had vanished, the manhimself had reappeared, and, prostrated on his knees, was salaaming ina condition of abject terror.
'My lord! my lord!' he whined. 'I entreat you, my lord, to use me asyour slave!'
'I'll use you as my slave!' Whether he or I was the more agitated itwould have been difficult to say,--but, at least, it would not havedone to betray my feelings as he did his.
'Stand up!'
He stood up. I eyed him as he did with an interest which, so far as Iwas concerned, was of a distinctly new and original sort. Whether ornot I had been the victim of an ocular delusion I could not be sure. Itwas incredible to suppose that he could have disappeared as he hadseemed to disappear,--it was also incredible that I could have imaginedhis disappearance. If the thing had been a trick, I had not thefaintest notion how it had been worked; and, if it was not a trick,then what was it? Was it something new in scientific marvels? Could hegive me as much instruction in the qualities of unknown forces as Icould him?
In the meanwhile he stood in an attitude of complete submission, withdowncast eyes, and hands crossed upon his breast. I started tocross-examine him.
'I am going to ask you some questions. So long as you answer thempromptly, truthfully, you will be safe. Otherwise you had best beware.'
'Ask, oh my lord.'
'What is the nature of your objection to Mr Lessingham?'
'Revenge.'
'What has he done to you that you should wish to be revenged on him?'
'It is the feud of the innocent blood.'
'What do you mean by that?'
'On his hands is the blood of my kin. It cries aloud for vengeance.'
'Who has he killed?'
'That, my lord, is for me,--and for him.'
'I see.--Am I to understand that you do not choose to answer me, andthat I am again to use my--magic?'
I saw that he quivered.
'My lord, he has spilled the blood of her who has lain upon his breast.'
I hesitated. What he meant appeared clear enough. Perhaps it would beas well not to press for further details. The words pointed to what itmight be courteous to call an Eastern Romance,--though it was hard toconceive of the Apostle figuring as the hero of such a theme. It wasthe old tale retold, that to the life of every man there is abackground,--that it is precisely in the unlikeliest cases that thebackground's darkest. What would that penny-plain-and-twopence-colouredbogey, the Nonconformist Conscience, make of such a story if it wereblazoned through the land. Would Paul not come down with a run?
'"Spilling blood" is a figure of speech; pretty, perhaps, but vague. Ifyou mean that Mr Lessingham has been killing someone, your surest andmost effectual revenge would be gained by an appeal to the law.'
'What has the Englishman's law to do with me?'
'If you can prove that he has been guilty of murder it would have agreat deal to do with you. I assure you that at any rate, in thatsense, the Englishman's law is no respecter of persons. Show him to beguilty, and it would hang Paul Lessingham as indifferently, and ascheerfully, as it would hang Bill Brown.'
'Is that so?'
'It is so, as, if you choose, you will be easily able to prove to yourown entire satisfaction.'
He had raised his head, and was looking at something which he seemed tosee in front of him with a maleficent glare in his sensitive eyes whichit was not nice to see.
'He would be shamed?'
'Indeed he would be shamed.'
'Before all men?'
'Before all men,--and, I take it, before all women too.'
'And he would hang?'
'If shown to have been guilty of wilful murder,--yes.'
His hideous face was lighted up by a sort of diabolical exultationwhich made it, if that were possible, more hideous still. I hadapparently given him a wrinkle which pleased him most consummately.
'Perhaps I will do that in the end,--in the end!' He opened his eyes totheir widest limits, then shut them tight,--as if to gloat on thepicture which his fancy painted. Then reopened them. 'In the meantime Iwill have vengeance in my own fashion. He knows already that theavenger is upon him,--he has good reason to know it. And through thedays and the nights the knowledge shall be with him still, and it shallbe to him as the bitterness of death,--aye, of many deaths. For he willknow that escape there is none, and that for him there shall be no moresun in the sky, and that the terror shall be with him by night and byday, at his rising up and at his lying down, wherever his eyes shallturn it shall be there,--yet, behold, the sap and the juice of myvengeance is in this, in that though he shall be very sure that thedays that are, are as the days of his death, yet shall he know that THEDEATH, THE GREAT DEATH, is coming--coming--and shall be on him--when Iwill!'
The fellow spoke like an inspired maniac. If he meant half what hesaid,--and if he did not then his looks and his tones belied him!--thena promising future bade fair to be in store for Mr Lessingham,--and,also, circumstances being as they were, for Marjorie. It was thislatter reflection which gave me pause. Either this imprecatory fanaticwould have to be disposed of, by Lessingham himself, or by someoneacting on his behalf, and, so far as their power of doing mischiefwent, his big words proved empty windbags, or Marjorie would have to bewarned that there was at least one passage in her suitor's life, intowhich, ere it was too late, it was advisable that inquiry should bemade. To allow Marjorie to irrevocably link her fate with theApostle's, without being first of all made aware that he was, to allintents and purposes, a haunted man--that was not to be thought of.
'You employ large phrases.'
My words cooled the other's heated blood. Once more his eyes were castdown, his hands crossed upon his breast
'I crave my lord's pardon. My wound is ever new.'
'By the way, what was the secret history, this morning, of that littleincident of the cockroach?'
He glanced up quickly.
'Cockroach?--I know not what you say.'
'Well,--was it beetle, then?'
'Beetle!'
He seemed, all at once, to have lost his voice,--the word was gasped.
'After you went we found, upon a sheet of paper, a capitally executeddrawing of a beetle, which, I fancy, you must have left behindyou,--Scaraboeus sacer, wasn't it?'
'I know not what you talk of.'
'Its discovery seemed to have quite a singular effect on Mr Lessingham.Now, why was that?'
'I know nothing.'
'Oh yes you do,--and, before you go, I mean to know something too.'
The man was trembling, looking this way and that, showing signs ofmarked discomfiture. That there was something about that ancientscarab, which figures so largely in the still unravelled tangles of theEgyptian mythologies, and the effect which the mere sight of itscartouch--for the drawing had resembled something of the kind--had hadon such a seasoned vessel as Paul Lessingham, which might be well worthmy finding out, I felt convinced,--the man's demeanour, on my recurringto the matter, told its own plain tale. I made up my mind, if possible,to probe the business to the bottom, then and there.
'Listen to me, my friend. I am a plain man, and I use plainspeech,--it's a kind of hobby I have. You will give me the informationI require, and that at once, or I will pit my magic against yours,--inwhich case I think it extremely probable that you will come off worstfrom the encounter.'
I reached out for the lever, and the exhibition of electricityrecommenced. Immediately his tremors were redoubled.
'My lord, I know not of what you talk.'
'None of your lies for me.--Tell me why, at the sight of the thing onthat sheet of paper, Paul Lessingham went green and yellow.'
'Ask him, my lord.'
'Probably, later on, that is what I shall do. In the meantime, I amasking you. Answer,--or look out for squalls.'
The electrical exhibition was going on. He was glaring at it as if hewished that it would stop. As if ashamed of his cowardice, plainly, ona sudden, he made a desperate effort to get the better of hisfears,--and succeeded better than I had expected or desired. He drewhimself up with what, in him, amounted to an air of dignity.
'I am a child of Isis!'
It struck me that he made this remark, not so much to impress me, aswith a view of elevating his own low spirits,
'Are you?--Then, in that case, I regret that I am unable tocongratulate the lady on her offspring.'
When I said that, a ring came into his voice which I had not heardbefore.
'Silence!--You know not of what you speak!--I warn you, as I warnedPaul Lessingham, be careful not to go too far. Be not like him,--heedmy warning.'
'What is it I am being warned against,--the beetle?'
'Yes,--the beetle!'
Were I upon oath, and this statement being made, in the presence ofwitnesses, say, in a solicitor's office, I standing in fear of painsand penalties, I think that, at this point, I should leave the paperblank. No man likes to own himself a fool, or that he ever was afool,--and ever since I have been wondering whether, on that occasion,that 'child of Isis' did, or did not, play the fool with me. Hisperformance was realistic enough at the time, heaven knows. But, as itgets farther and farther away, I ask myself, more and more confidently,as time effluxes, whether, after all, it was not cleverjuggling,--superhumanly clever juggling, if you will; that, and nothingmore. If it was something more, then, with a vengeance! there is morein heaven and earth than is dreamed of in our philosophy. The merepossibility opens vistas which the sane mind fears to contemplate.
Since, then, I am not on oath, and, should I fall short of verbalaccuracy, I do not need to fear the engines of the law, what seemed tohappen was this.
He was standing within about ten feet of where I leaned against theedge of the table. The light was full on, so that it was difficult tosuppose that I could make a mistake as to what took place in front ofme. As he replied to my mocking allusion to the beetle by echoing myown words, he vanished,--or, rather, I saw him taking a different shapebefore my eyes. His loose draperies all fell off him, and, as they werein the very act of falling, there issued, or there seemed to issue outof them, a monstrous creature of the beetle type,--the man himself wasgone. On the point of size I wish to make myself clear. My impression,when I saw it first, was that it was as large as the man had been, andthat it was, in some way, standing up on end, the legs towards me. But,the moment it came in view, it began to dwindle, and that so rapidlythat, in a couple of seconds at most, a little heap of drapery waslying on the floor, on which was a truly astonishing example of thecoleoptera. It appeared to be a beetle. It was, perhaps, six or seveninches high, and about a foot in length. Its scales were of a vividgolden green. I could distinctly see where the wings were sheathedalong the back, and, as they seemed to be slightly agitated, I looked,every moment, to see them opened, and the thing take wing.
I was so astonished,--as who would not have been?--that for anappreciable space of time I was practically in a state of stupefaction.I could do nothing but stare. I was acquainted with the legendarytransmigrations of Isis, and with the story of the beetle which issuesfrom the woman's womb through all eternity, and with the other prettytales, but this, of which I was an actual spectator, was something new,even in legends. If the man, with whom I had just been speaking, wasgone, where had he gone to? If this glittering creature was there, inhis stead, whence had it come?
I do protest this much, that, after the first shock of surprise hadpassed, I retained my presence of mind. I felt as an investigator mightfeel, who has stumbled, haphazard, on some astounding, someepoch-making, discovery. I was conscious that I should have to make thebest use of my mental f
aculties if I was to take full advantage of soastonishing an accident. I kept my glance riveted on the creature, withthe idea of photographing it on my brain. I believe that if it werepossible to take a retinal print--which it someday will be--you wouldhave a perfect picture of what it was I saw, Beyond doubt it was alamellicorn, one of the copridae. With the one exception of itsmonstrous size, there were the characteristics in plain view;--theconvex body, the large head, the projecting clypeus. More, its smoothhead and throat seemed to suggest that it was a female. Equally beyonda doubt, apart from its size, there were unusual features present too.The eyes were not only unwontedly conspicuous, they gleamed as if theywere lighted by internal flames,--in some indescribable fashion theyreminded me of my vanished visitor. The colouring was superb, and thecreature appeared to have the chameleon-like faculty of lightening anddarkening the shades at will. Its not least curious feature was itsrestlessness. It was in a state of continual agitation; and, as if itresented my inspection, the more I looked at it the more its agitationgrew. As I have said, I expected every moment to see it take wing andcircle through the air.
All the while I was casting about in my mind as to what means I coulduse to effect its capture. I did think of killing it, and, on thewhole, I rather wish that I had at any rate attempted slaughter,--therewere dozens of things, lying ready to my hand, any one of which wouldhave severely tried its constitution;--but, on the spur of the moment,the only method of taking it alive which occurred to me, was to popover it a big tin canister which had contained soda-lime. This canisterwas on the floor to my left. I moved towards it, as nonchalantly as Icould, keeping an eye on that shining wonder all the time. Directly Imoved, its agitation perceptibly increased,--it was, so to speak, allone whirr of tremblement; it scintillated, as if its coloured scaleshad been so many prisms; it began to unsheath its wings, as if it hadfinally decided that it would make use of them. Picking up the tin,disembarrassing it of its lid, I sprang towards my intended victim. Itswings opened wide; obviously it was about to rise; but it was too late.Before it had cleared the ground, the tin was over it.
It remained over it, however, for an instant only. I had stumbled, inmy haste, and, in my effort to save myself from falling face foremoston to the floor, I was compelled to remove my hands from the tin.Before I was able to replace them, the tin was sent flying, and, whileI was still partially recumbent, within eighteen inches of me, thatbeetle swelled and swelled, until it had assumed its former portentousdimensions, when, as it seemed, it was enveloped by a human shape, andin less time than no time, there stood in front of me, naked from topto toe, my truly versatile oriental friend. One startling fact nudityrevealed,--that I had been egregiously mistaken on the question of sex.My visitor was not a man, but a woman, and, judging from the briefglimpse which I had of her body, by no means old or ill-shaped either.
If that transformation was not a bewildering one, then two and two makefive. The most level-headed scientist would temporarily have lost hismental equipoise on witnessing such a quick change as that within aspan or two of his own nose I was not only witless, I was breathlesstoo,--I could only gape. And, while I gaped, the woman, stooping down,picking up her draperies, began to huddle them on her anyhow,--and,also, to skeddadle towards the door which led into the yard. When Iobserved this last manoeuvre, to some extent I did rise to therequirements of the situation. Leaping up, I rushed to stay her flight.
'Stop!' I shouted.
But she was too quick for me. Ere I could reach her, she had opened thedoor, and was through it,--and, what was more, she had slammed it in myface. In my excitement, I did some fumbling with the handle. When, inmy turn, I was in the yard, she was out of sight. I did fancy I saw adim form disappearing over the wall at the further side, and I made forit as fast as I knew how. I clambered on to the wall, looking this wayand that, but there was nothing and no one to be seen. I listened forthe sound of retreating footsteps, but all was still. Apparently I hadthe entire neighbourhood to my own sweet self. My visitor had vanished.Time devoted to pursuit I felt would be time ill-spent.
As I returned across the yard, Woodville, who still was taking his restunder the open canopy of heaven, sat up. Seemingly my approach hadroused him out of slumber. At sight of me he rubbed his eyes, andyawned, and blinked.
'I say,' he remarked, not at all unreasonably, 'where am I?'
'You're on holy--or on haunted ground,--hang me if I quite knowwhich!--but that's where you are, my boy.'
'By Jove!--I am feeling queer!--I have got a headache, don't you know.'
'I shouldn't be in the least surprised at anything you have, orhaven't,--I'm beyond surprise. It's a drop of whisky you arewanting,--and what I'm wanting too,--only, for goodness sake, drop menone of your drops! Mine is a case for a bottle at the least.'
I put my arm through his, and went with him into the laboratory. And,when we were in, I shut, and locked, and barred the door.