CHAPTER II.
The next morning was clear and bright. It was one of those mornings that sometimes come in February to tell even Londoners that spring has really started on her journey northward, and that she may be expected to arrive some time soon.
The sun shone, a fresh, but not cold, wind blew from the south-west, hurrying the soft golden clouds across the sky, and the sparrows had actually begun their spring quarrels.
The Professor, contrary to his usual habit, took no notice of these nice things. He felt very old and weary as he set off on his journey to the city with the same undefined feeling of misfortune that had haunted him all night.
He went straight to the stockbroker's office, expecting simply to have to sign a paper or two, receive his quarterly cheque for £6 5s., cash it at the bank, and then go quietly home again. He was surprised when the clerk asked him to sit down.
“I think Mr. Surtees wants to see you, Mr. Crowitzski,” he said, more politely than usual. “He will be disengaged in a few minutes, if you don't mind waiting. Oh, he's ready now”—as an electric bell rang three times.
The old man followed the clerk upstairs to the first floor, where they paused outside a door marked “Private.” The clerk knocked softly.
“Come in,” said a voice, and the clerk ushered the Professor into his master's presence.
“Good morning, Professor Crowitzski!” said the stockbroker cheerily. “Come and sit down by the fire. You look cold. It's a fresh morning, though the wind is sou'-west!”