The occupants of the room on the evening in question were four in number. One, a German, known as the Professor Heinrich von Schalckenberg, was half buried in the recesses of a huge arm-chair, from the depths of which he perused the pages of the Science Monthly, smoking meanwhile a pipe with a huge elaborately carved meerschaum bowl and a long cherry-wood stem. From the ferocious manner in which he glared through his spectacles at the pages of the magazine, from the impatience with which he from time to time dashed his disengaged hand through the masses of his iron-grey hair, and from the frequent ejaculations of “Pish!” “Psha!” “Ach!” and so on which escaped his lips, accompanied by vast volumes of smoke, it seemed evident that he was not altogether at one with the author whose article he was perusing. He was an explorer and a scientist.
Near the Herr Professor there reclined upon a divan the form of Sir Reginald Elphinstone, sometimes called by his friends “the handsome baronet,” said to be the richest commoner in England. At the age of thirty-five, having freely exposed himself to all known sources of peril, except those involved in a trip to the Polar regions, in his eager pursuit of sport and adventure, Sir Reginald seemed, for the moment, to have no object left him in life but to shoot as many rings as possible of cigar-smoke through each other, as he lay there on the divan in an attitude more easy than elegant.
Square in front of the fire, dreamily puffing at his cigar and apparently studying the merits of a painting hanging behind him, and on the reflected image of which in the mirror before him his eyes lazily rested, sat Cyril Lethbridge, ex-colonel of the Royal Engineers, a successful gold-seeker, and almost everything else to which a spice of adventure could possibly attach itself.
And next him again, on the side of the fire-place opposite to the Herr Professor, lounged Lieutenant Edward Mildmay, R.N.
The lieutenant was skimming through the daily papers. Presently he looked up and remarked to the colonel:
“I see that some Frenchmen have been making experiments in the navigation of balloons.”
“Ah, indeed!” responded the colonel, with his head thrown critically on one side, and his eyes still fixed on the reflection of the picture. “And with what result?”
“Oh, failure, of course.”
“And failure it always will be. The thing is simply an impossibility,” remarked the colonel.
“No, bardon me, colonel, id is not an imbossibilidy by any means.”