"By the way, we have a friend staying here. Have you come across him?"
"No, I have seen nobody—that is, no acquaintance. Who is it?"
"Stepton."
"The professor down here!" exclaimed Mr. Harding, as if startled.
"At the hotel, I believe. He's come down to make some investigation."
"I haven't seen him."
They stepped into the fly, and drove through the long street of Whitstable toward the outlying houses of Tankerton, scattered over grassy downs above a quiet, brown sea.
"The air is splendid, certainly," observed Malling, drinking it in almost like a gourmet savoring a wonderful wine.
"It must do me good. Don't you think so?"
The question sounded anxious to Malling's ears.