"But money! I must have money!" cried the other, a young-old man whose age it was impossible to determine though his hair was growing grey.
"Of course you must," laughed Boyne. "Here's fifty pounds to go on with. And keep a still tongue or it will be the worse for you. Recollect if you are unfortunate enough to be arrested, it will only be because of your own idiotic movements. Keep quiet here."
"Misfortune may befall any of us!" said the other in that peculiar whining voice which showed that his mental balance was not normal.
"True. But if you do happen to fall into the hands of the police, remember—breathe not a word. Trust to me to help you out of the scrape. Trust Mrs. Sampson downstairs—and trust me."
"Yes. But, oh, that beautiful mike! Burnt up. That beautiful mike!"
"Don't bother about that. I'll buy you another, and all the apparatus if you'll only keep a still tongue and remain in the house. I've told Mrs. Sampson not to let you out."
"Oh! I won't go out. I promise you I won't," he said with an idiotic stare. "I only went to Pont Street because I wanted to know if you were all right."
"And incidentally you wanted money!" laughed the other. "Well, you had it—you have it again now. Remain quiet and content. I'm busy. I've got lots of things to look after. I've probably got to go away, but I'll see you have money to go on with all right."
"Very well," said the strange man. "This place is better than Hammersmith, living in a locked room for weeks and months, nobody to see, and only breathing the fresh air on the roof when everybody had gone to bed."
"But you had your work—your scientific work in bacteriology! You can't live without your work!"