"I can't see where the comfort of that reflection comes in," said
Biggleswade.

"And yet you've travelled in the East," said Doyne. "I suppose you know
the Valley of the Tigris as well as any man living."

"Yes," said the Professor. "I can say I dug my way from Tekrit to Bagdad
and left not a stone unexamined."

"Perhaps, after all," Doyne remarked, "that's not quite the way to know
the East."

"I never wanted to know the modern East," returned the Professor. "What
is there in it of interest compared with the mighty civilizations that
have gone before?"

McCurdie took a pull from his flask.

"I'm glad I thought of having a refill at Plymouth," said he.

At last, after many stops at little lonely stations they arrived at
Trehenna. The guard opened the door and they stepped out on to the
snow-covered platform. An oil lamp hung from the tiny pent-house roof
that, structurally, was Trehenna Station. They looked around at the
silent gloom of white undulating moorland, and it seemed a place where
no man lived and only ghosts could have a bleak and unsheltered being. A
porter came up and helped the guard with the luggage. Then they realized
that the station was built on a small embankment, for, looking over the
railing, they saw below the two great lamps of a motor car. A fur-clad