Dr. Fell pondered.
"It's still raining hard," he responded, at length, with the air of one meditating a move at chess. "Do you see how much water has accumulated under that window?"
"Yes, of course, but―"
"And do you see," he indicated the closed door to the balcony, "that none has got in through there?" "Naturally."
"But if that door were open there would be much more water there than under the window, wouldn't there?"
If the doctor were doing all this merely for the purpose of mystification, Rampole could not tell it. The lexicographer was looking through his glasses in a rather cross-eyed fashion, and pinching at his moustache. Rampole grimly resolved to hang on to the coat-tails of the comet.
"Undoubtedly, sir," he agreed.
"Then," said the other, triumphantly, "why didn't we see his light?"
"O God!" said Rampole, with a faint groan.
"It's like a conjuring trick. Do you know," enquired Dr. Fell, pointing with one cane, "what Tennyson said of Browning's 'Sordello'?"