The library was never cleared up by any one except Challis or his deputy, but an early housemaid had been sent to dust, and she had left the casement of one of the lower lights of the window open. The means of the Wonder's entrance was thus clearly in evidence.
"It's Napoleonic," murmured Challis.
"It's most infernal cheek," returned Lewes in a loud voice, "I should not be at all surprised if that promised shaking were not administered to-day."
The Wonder took no notice. Challis says that on that morning his eyes were travelling down the page at about the rate at which one could count the lines.
"He isn't reading," said Lewes. "No one could read as fast as that, and most certainly not a child of four and a half."
"If he would only answer questions ..." hesitated Challis.
"Oh! of course he won't do that," said Lewes. "He's clever enough not to give himself away."
The two men went over to the table and looked down over the child's shoulder. He was in the middle of the article on "Aberration"—a technical treatise on optical physics.
Lewes made a gesture. "Now do you believe he's humbugging?" he asked confidently, and made no effort to modulate his voice.
Challis drew his eyebrows together. "My boy," he said, and laid his hand lightly on Victor Stott's shoulder, "can you understand what you are reading there?"