But our good humour was restored when we saw Lord John Roxton
waiting for us upon the platform, his tall, thin figure clad
in a yellow tweed shooting-suit. His keen face, with those
unforgettable eyes, so fierce and yet so humorous, flushed
with pleasure at the sight of us. His ruddy hair was shot
with grey, and the furrows upon his brow had been cut a
little deeper by Time's chisel, but in all else he was the
Lord John who had been our good comrade in the past.

"Hullo, Herr Professor! Hullo, young fella!" he shouted as
he came toward us.

He roared with amusement when he saw the oxygen cylinders
upon the porter's trolly behind us. "So you've got them
too!" he cried. "Mine is in the van. Whatever can the old
dear be after?"

"Have you seen his letter in the Times?" I asked.

"What was it?"

"Stuff and nonsense!" said Summerlee harshly.

"Well, it's at the bottom of this oxygen business, or I am
mistaken," said I.

"Stuff and nonsense!" cried Summerlee again with quite
unnecessary violence. We had all got into a first-class
smoker, and he had already lit the short and charred old
briar pipe which seemed to singe the end of his long,