MR. BEDFORD MEETS MR. CAVOR
my hat and wished him a good evening. He responded convulsively, and so we went our ways.
At the stile I looked back at his receding figure. His bearing had changed remarkably; he seemed limp, shrunken. The contrast with his former gesticulating, zuzzooing self took me in some absurd way as pathetic. I watched him out of sight. Then, wishing very heartily I had kept to my own business, I returned to my bungalow and my play.
The next evening I saw nothing of him, nor the next. But he was very much in my mind, and it had occurred to me that as a sentimental comic character he might serve a useful purpose in the development of my plot. The third day he called upon me.
For a time I was puzzled to think what had brought him—he made indifferent conversation in the most formal way—then abruptly he came to business. He wanted to buy me out of my bungalow.
"You see," he said, "I don't blame you in the least, but you've destroyed a habit and it disorganises my day. I've walked past here for years—years. No doubt I've hummed. . . . You've made all that impossible!"
I suggested he might try some other direction.
"No. There is no other direction. This is the only one. I've inquired. And now every afternoon at four—I come to a dead wall."
"But, my dear sir, if the thing is so important to you———"
"It's vital! You see I'm—I'm an investigator—I am engaged in a scientific research. I live—" he
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