M. Poizat smiled contemptuously. He drew from his breast pocket a sheaf of letters.
"See how many in Ludsey owe their health to me!" he cried, and he gave the letters to Rames, who read them over with an 'oh' and an 'ah' of intense admiration when any particularly startling cure was gratefully recorded.
"You are a chemist here I suppose--naturalized, of course?" asked Captain Rames.
"I have a restaurant," M. Poizat corrected him. "Lungatine is merely one of my discoveries."
He sat down complacently. Captain Rames started up in dismay upon his elbow.
"I have a great deal to do to-morrow," he said piteously. The plea was of no avail. Captain Rames was in the grip of that most terrible of all constituents, the amateur inventor. M. Poizat drew his chair to the side of the sofa and went through the tale of his inventions. It was the usual inevitable list--an automatic lift which would work with absolute safety in any mine, a torpedo which would destroy any navy, a steel process which would resist any torpedo, and a railway-coupling.
"I'll bring you the models," he cried.
"No, no," cried Rames, springing from his sofa in dismay. Then he laid his hand on the inventor's shoulder and smiled wisely:
"Royal commissions for you," he said. "They're the fellows for models. I'll see about some. Royal commissions for you. Thank you for your Lungatine. Good-night, my friend, good-night."
Gently, but firmly, he raised the inventor from his chair, while he shook hands with him, and conducted him toward the door.