He was old, stooped, and thin. His hair was a mass of untrimmed white. He wore a huge white mustache, with long drooping ends.
He was muttering to himself as he wrote upon a sheet of paper which lay upon an opened book. He seemed totally unconscious of Harry’s arrival.
The objects in the room were interesting; and Harry took advantage of the man’s preoccupation to study his surroundings. Everywhere he looked he saw something which seemed to no apparent purpose.
He forgot all about the man at the desk for a few minutes. When his eyes returned to that spot, the white-haired individual was staring at him with a strange, fixed gaze.
Harry uttered a slight exclamation; then bowed to the old man.
“You are Professor Whitburn?” he questioned.
“Yes,” replied the old man, in a raspy voice. “What is your name?”
“Harry Vincent.”
“Ah, yes. I had forgotten it. You are the new man. Sit down. I would like to talk to you.”
Harry carefully removed books and papers from the nearest chair, and deposited them upon a table. He drew the chair to the side of the desk, directly opposite Professor Whitburn.