Hatch nodded.
"Then," resumed The Thinking Machine casually, "bring me some of Mr. Herbert's blood."
The reporter blinked a good deal, and gulped twice.
"How much?" he inquired briskly.
"A single drop on a small piece of glass will do very nicely," replied the scientist.
CHAPTER II
The Supreme Police Intelligence of the Metropolitan District was doing some heavy thinking, which, modestly enough, bore generally on his own dazzling perspicacity. Just at the moment he couldn't recall any detector of crime whose lustre in any way dimmed his own, or whose mere shadow, even, had a right to fall on the same earth as his; and this lapse of memory so stimulated his admiration for the subject of his thoughts that he lighted a fresh cigar and put his feet in the middle of the desk.
He sat thus when The Thinking Machine called. The Supreme Intelligence—Mr. Mallory—knew Professor Van Dusen well, and, though he received his visitor graciously, he showed no difficulty in restraining any undue outburst of enthusiasm. Instead, the same admirable self-control which prevented him from outwardly evidencing his pleasure prompted him to square back in his chair with a touch of patronising aggressiveness in his manner.
"Ah, Professor," was his noncommittal greeting.