Morton rose, put his pens in the drawer, locked it; slid half a dozen papers into a black tin box, locked that too, and went towards his coat and hat, all in silence.
As he went out he turned on the threshold.
"When's that man coming back from Ireland?" he said.
"Who? Vincent? Oh! another month yet. We're going to have another try when he comes."
"Try? What at?"
"Materialization," said Laurie. "That's to say—"
"I don't want to know what the foul thing means."
He still paused, looking hard at the boy. Then he sniffed.
"A young fool," he said. "I repeat it.... Lock up when you come.... Good night."