“Why the devil do you wear such old-fashioned clothes?” he asked.
“To me they are very new,” said the old man gently. “The garments of to-day are without romance, without the thrill which these bring to me.” He patted the overlapping cape and smiled. “An old man is entitled to his fancies: let me be humoured, Sir Gregory.”
At the moment Mr. Sampson Longvale was driving to Griff Towers, Mike Brixan, summoned by messenger, was facing Jack Knebworth in his office.
“I hope you didn’t mind my sending for you, though it was a fool thing to do,” said the director. “You remember that we shot some scenes at Griff Towers?”
Michael nodded.
“I want you to see one that we took, with the tower in the background, and tell me what you think of—something.”
Wonderingly, Michael accompanied the director to the projection room.
“My laboratory manager pointed it out to me in the negative,” explained Jack as they seated themselves and the room went dark. “Of course, I should have seen it in the print.”
“What is it?” asked Michael curiously.
“That’s just what I don’t know,” said the other, scratching his head, “but you’ll see for yourself.”