“I'm rather at a loss to understand this visit,” he said stiffly, as they came into the room.
Sir Clinton refused to notice the obviously grudging tone of his reception.
“We merely wish to have a few minutes’ talk, Dr. Markfield,” he explained pleasantly. “Some information has come into my hands which needs confirmation, and I think you'll be able to help us.”
Markfield glanced at the clock.
“I'm in the middle of an experiment,” he said gruffly. “I've got to run it through, now that it's started. If you're going to be long. I'd better bring the things in here and then I can oversee it while I'm talking to you.”
Without waiting for permission, he left the room and came back in a couple of minutes with a tray on which stood some apparatus. Flamborough noticed a conical flask containing some limpid liquid, and a stoppered bottle. Markfield clamped a dropping funnel, also containing a clear liquid, so that its spout entered the conical flask; and by turning the tap of the funnel slightly, he allowed a little of the contents to flow down into the flask.
“I hope the smell doesn't trouble you,” he said, in a tone of sour apology. “It's the triethylamine I'm mixing with the tetranitromethane in the flask. Rather a fishy stink it has.”
He arranged the apparatus on the table so that he could reach the tap conveniently without rising from his chair; then, after admitting a little more of the liquid from the funnel into the flask, he seated himself once more and gave Sir Clinton his attention.
“What is it you want to know?” he demanded abruptly.
Sir Clinton refused to be hurried. Putting his hand into his breast-pocket, he drew out some sheets of typewriting which he placed on the table before him, as though for future reference. Then he turned to his host.