little Chippendale book-case. Raymond pointed to this.

"You see that parchment Oswald Crollius? He was one of
the first to show me the way, though I don't think he ever found
it himself. That is a strange saying of his: 'In every grain of
wheat there lies hidden the soul of a star.'"

There was not much furniture in the laboratory. The
table in the centre, a stone slab with a drain in one corner,
the two armchairs on which Raymond and Clarke were sitting; that
was all, except an odd-looking chair at the furthest end of the
room. Clarke looked at it, and raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, that is the chair," said Raymond. "We may as
well place it in position." He got up and wheeled the chair to
the light, and began raising and lowering it, letting down the
seat, setting the back at various angles, and adjusting the
foot-rest. It looked comfortable enough, and Clarke passed his
hand over the soft green velvet, as the doctor manipulated the
levers.

"Now, Clarke, make yourself quite comfortable. I have
a couple hours' work before me; I was obliged to leave certain
matters to the last."

Raymond went to the stone slab, and Clarke watched him
drearily as he bent over a row of phials and lit the flame under
the crucible. The doctor had a small hand-lamp, shaded as the
larger one, on a ledge above his apparatus, and Clarke, who sat
in the shadows, looked down at the great shadowy room, wondering