“Are you still determined to go?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, “I must go. It will be necessary for me to make one or two inquiries and get a pair of glasses made for Miss McLeod.”
“I shall be very sorry to lose you, Garnesk,” I said earnestly. “Don’t you think you could write or wire for the glasses? You see, if we have come to the conclusion that this green ray is some chemical production of Nature unassisted there isn’t the same reason for you to leave us.”
“No, that’s true,” he agreed, “but we were both a bit scared yesterday, old chap, and the more I think of this dog business the less I like it. It was mere conceit on my part that made me say it was bound to be some natural phenomenon merely because I couldn’t understand how the effect could have been humanly produced.”
“Perhaps,” I suggested, “our best course would be to keep an open mind about the whole thing.”
“Yes,” he replied, “I’m with you entirely. And in that case my going away is not going to aggravate the effects of a natural phenomenon, while it may restrain the human agency by removing the necessity for further activity.”
“Well, that’s sound enough,” I acquiesced; “but I shall hear from you, I hope?”
“Of course, my dear fellow,” he laughed, “we’re in this thing together. You’ll hear from me as often as you want, and who knows what else besides. I have no intention of dropping this for a minute, Ewart. But I think I can do more if I am not on the spot. We’re agreed that my presence here may be a source of danger to you all.”
“Yes,” I said, “I think yours is the best plan. What do you propose to do?”
“Well, to begin with, I shall devote an hour or two to knocking our panic theory on the head.”