Part 15 (1/2)

”Dear me,” said Septimus. ”Now that's just what I enjoy doing.”

Wiggleswick grunted. ”I'll turn on the tap and leave it.”

The door having closed behind his body servant, Septimus laid his ivory rule on the portion of the complicated diagram of machinery which he had been measuring off, and soon became absorbed in his task. It was four o'clock in the afternoon. He had but lately risen, and sat in pyjamas and dressing-gown over his drawing. A bundle of proofs and a jam-pot containing a dissipated looking rosebud lay on that s.p.a.ce of the table not occupied by the double-elephant sheet of paper. By his side was a ma.n.u.script covered with calculations to which he referred or added from time to time. A bleak November light came in through the window, and Septimus's chair was on the right-hand side of the table. It was characteristic of him to sit unnecessarily in his own light.

Presently a more than normal darkening of the room caused him to look at the window. Clem Sypher stood outside, gazing at him with amused curiosity.

Hospitably, Septimus rose and flung the cas.e.m.e.nt window open.

”Do come in.”

As the aperture was two feet square, all of Clem Sypher that could respond to the invitation was his head and shoulders.

”Is it good morning, good afternoon, or good night?” he asked, surveying Septimus's attire.

”Morning,” said Septimus. ”I've just got up. Have some breakfast.”

He moved to a bell-pull by the fireplace, and the tug was immediately followed by a loud report.

”What the devil's that?” asked Sypher, startled.

”That,” said Septimus mildly, ”is an invention. I pull the rope and a pistol is fired off in the kitchen. Wiggleswick says he can't hear bells.

What's for breakfast?” he asked, as Wiggleswick entered.

”Haddock. And the bath's running over.”

Septimus waved him away. ”Let it run.” He turned to Sypher. ”Have a haddock?”

”At four o'clock in the afternoon? Do you want me to be sick?”

”Good heavens, no!” cried Septimus. ”Do come in and I'll give you anything you like.”

He put his hand again on the bell-pull. A hasty exclamation from Sypher checked his impulse.

”I say, don't do that again. If you'll open the front door for me,” he added, ”I may be able to get inside.”

A moment or two later Sypher was admitted, by the orthodox avenues, into the room. He looked around him, his hands on his hips.

”I wonder what on earth this would have been like if our dear lady hadn't had a hand in it.”

As Septimus's imagination was entirely scientific he could furnish no solution to the problem. He drew a chair to the fire and bade his guest sit down, and handed him a box of cigars which also housed a pair of compa.s.ses, some stamps, and a collar stud. Sypher selected and lit a cigar, but declined the chair for the moment.

”You don't mind my looking you up? I told you yesterday I would do it, but you're such a curious creature there's no knowing at what hour you can receive visitors. Mrs. Middlemist told me you were generally in to lunch at half-past four in the morning. h.e.l.lo, an invention?”

”Yes,” said Septimus.

Sypher pored over the diagram. ”What on earth is it all about?”

”It's to prevent people getting killed in railway collisions,” replied Septimus. ”You see, the idea is that every compartment should consist of an outer sh.e.l.l and an inner case in which pa.s.sengers sit. The roof is like a lid. When there's a collision this series of levers is set in motion, and at once the inner case is lifted through the roof and the people are out of the direct concussion. I haven't quite worked it out yet,” he added, pa.s.sing his hand through his hair. ”You see, the same thing might happen when they're just coupling some more carriages on to a train at rest, which would be irritating to the pa.s.sengers.”

”Very,” said Sypher, drily. ”It would also come rather expensive, wouldn't it?”