kindly show the envelope of this letter to my man, Austin, when
you call, as he has to take every precaution to shield me from
the intrusive rascals who call themselves `journalists.'
"Yours faithfully,
"GEORGE EDWARD CHALLENGER."


This was the letter that I read aloud to Tarp Henry, who had come
down early to hear the result of my venture. His only remark
was, "There's some new stuff, cuticura or something, which is
better than arnica." Some people have such extraordinary notions
of humor.

It was nearly half-past ten before I had received my message, but
a taxicab took me round in good time for my appointment. It was
an imposing porticoed house at which we stopped, and the
heavily-curtained windows gave every indication of wealth upon
the part of this formidable Professor. The door was opened by an
odd, swarthy, dried-up person of uncertain age, with a dark pilot
jacket and brown leather gaiters. I found afterwards that he was
the chauffeur, who filled the gaps left by a succession of
fugitive butlers. He looked me up and down with a searching
light blue eye.

"Expected?" he asked.

"An appointment."

"Got your letter?"