We had not far to go. Fifty yards or so from the entrance to the landslip I heard the tapping of a hammer, guided by which I looked up and saw a man on his knees busily at work, and my companion sang out, “Five o’clock, my flinty-hearted parent.”
Professor Seemarsh turned round, gave an answering wave of the hand, proceeding to collect his specimens into a canvas satchel which he slung on his shoulder, and then clambered down from the ledge on the fissured rock.
I had told Miss Seemarsh my name, and she introduced us. Naturally, I took keen notice of the Professor. He was a learned-looking, untidy man of about fifty-five, with shaggy grey eyebrows and whitish hair, while his scrubby moustache and wisps of shaggy beard showed a lofty disregard for grooming. There was nothing remarkable in his face, except that behind his tinted spectacles the eyes seemed keen and restless. His dress was quite professional in its negligent absence of taste. A light tweed Norfolk jacket, a crumpled buff waistcoat, dark grey trousers, and a weather-beaten soft felt hat were all in accordance with the best traditions of science.
He bowed and shook hands jerkily, after the manner of men whose pursuits absorb them from society. He had a quick, short manner of speech as one who wishes to say what is necessary as soon as possible and then get to his work.
“You are staying here? At the inn? Wretched place, isn’t it?”
I told him.
“Ah, I know. House on the site of the old castle. Must have been an interesting place. Ruins still exist, I believe?”
“Yes; very fragmentary.”
He laughed. “I am used to fragments. They tell me all I want to know; though a mere sight-seer wants something more. You are scientific?”
“I am afraid not.”