He was conscious, as he entered, of an atmospheric density in the room⁠—a density that seemed both material and psychic.

“The place smells of Bob Weevil’s new clothes,” he thought, moving forward towards them.

The young tradesman rose to greet him, but Gerda retained her seat.

“You were so late that I thought I wouldn’t keep Bob waiting for his tea,” she said; “but I’ve got your cup here, and it’s only just made.”

“Bob was good enough to give me lunch,” he remarked; “so you are right to treat him nicely. Sit down, Bob.” And pulling a third chair towards the table for himself, he held out his cup for Gerda to fill.

“Well,” he said, after he had tasted his tea, “I found Urquhart at home, and I met Jason there too⁠ ⁠… oh, and a friend of yours, too, Bob! Guess who that was!”