“That’s the man. He is level-headed and is looked on as an authority on psychic research, as they call the new science which deals with these matters.”
“Science, indeed!”
“Well, that is what they call it. He seems to take these people seriously. I consult him when I want a reference, for he has the literature at his fingers’ end. ‘Pioneers of the Human Race’—that was his description.”
“Pioneering them to Bedlam,” growled Challenger. “And literature! What literature have they?”
“Well, that was another surprise. Atkinson has five hundred volumes, but complains that his psychic library is very imperfect. You see, there is French, German, Italian, as well as our own.”
“Well, thank God all the folly is not confined to poor old England. Pestilential nonsense!”
“Have you read it up at all, Father?” asked Enid.
“Read it up! I, with all my interests and no time for one-half of them! Enid, you are too absurd.”
“Sorry, Father. You spoke with such assurance, I thought you knew something about it.”
Challenger’s huge head swung round and his lion’s glare rested upon his daughter.