“That man you was speaking to was Lord Budleigh-Salterton, the great scientist. He’s thinkin’ out ’is great invention, otherwise I’d go and ask ’im if ’e wanted to prosecute yer for being in ’is park on felonious intent or what.”
“I assure you—” stammered Mr. Pothecary.
The park-keeper saw him well off the premises, and gave him much gratuitous advice about his future behavior, darkened with melancholy prophecies regarding the would-be felon’s strength of character to live up to it.
Leaving the park he struck out towards the more rural neighborhood. He calculated that he must be somewhere in the neighborhood of Hendon. At the end of a lane he met a sallow-faced young man walking rapidly. His eyes were bloodshot and restless. He glanced at Edwin and stopped.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said.
Edwin drew himself to attention. The young man looked up and down nervously. He was obviously in a great state of distress.
“What can I do for you?”
“I—I—h-hardly like to ask you, sir, I—”
He stammered shockingly. Edwin turned on his most sympathetic manner.