word of it, otherwise I should not have written it....  I
shouldn't be surprised....  There is every indication of it....
Within a day or so at the furthest....  Well, I can't help that,
can I?...  Very unpleasant, no doubt, but I rather fancy it will
affect more important people than you.  There is no use whining
about it....  No, I couldn't possibly.  You must take your
chance....  That's enough, sir.  Nonsense!  I have something more
important to do than to listen to such twaddle."

He shut off with a crash and led us upstairs into a large airy
apartment which formed his study.  On the great mahogany desk
seven or eight unopened telegrams were lying.

"Really," he said as he gathered them up, "I begin to think that
it would save my correspondents' money if I were to adopt a
telegraphic address.  Possibly `Noah, Rotherfield,' would be the
most appropriate."

As usual when he made an obscure joke, he leaned against the
desk and bellowed in a paroxysm of laughter, his hands shaking
so that he could hardly open the envelopes.

"Noah!  Noah!" he gasped, with a face of beetroot, while Lord
John and I smiled in sympathy and Summerlee, like a dyspeptic
goat, wagged his head in sardonic disagreement.  Finally
Challenger, still rumbling and exploding, began to open his
telegrams.  The three of us stood in the bow window and occupied
ourselves in admiring the magnificent view.

It was certainly worth looking at.  The road in its gentle curves
had really brought us to a considerable elevation--seven hundred
feet, as we afterwards discovered.  Challenger's house was on the
very edge of the hill, and from its southern face, in which was
the study window, one looked across the vast stretch of the
weald to where the gentle curves of the South Downs formed an
undulating horizon.  In a cleft of the hills a haze of smoke
marked the position of Lewes.  Immediately at our feet there lay
a rolling plain of heather, with the long, vivid green stretches
of the Crowborough golf course, all dotted with the players.  A
little to the south, through an opening in the woods, we could
see a section of the main line from London to Brighton.  In the
immediate foreground, under our very noses, was a small enclosed
yard, in which stood the car which had brought us from the station.

An ejaculation from Challenger caused us to turn.  He had read
his telegrams and had arranged them in a little methodical pile
upon his desk.  His broad, rugged face, or as much of it as was
visible over the matted beard, was still deeply flushed, and he
seemed to be under the influence of some strong excitement.

"Well, gentlemen," he said, in a voice as if he was addressing
a public meeting, "this is indeed an interesting reunion, and it
takes place under extraordinary--I may say
unprecedented--circumstances.  May I ask if you have observed
anything upon your journey from town?"

"The only thing which I observed," said Summerlee with a sour
smile, "was that our young friend here has not improved in his
manners during the years that have passed.  I am sorry to state
that I have had to seriously complain of his conduct in the
train, and I should be wanting in frankness if I did not say
that it has left a most unpleasant impression in my mind."

"Well, well, we all get a bit prosy sometimes," said Lord John.
"The young fellah meant no real harm.  After all, he's an
International, so if he takes half an hour to describe a game of
football he has more right to do it than most folk."

"Half an hour to describe a game!" I cried indignantly.  "Why, it
was you that took half an hour with some long-winded story about
a buffalo.  Professor Summerlee will be my witness."

"I can hardly judge which of you was the most utterly wearisome,"
said Summerlee.  "I declare to you, Challenger, that I never wish
to hear of football or of buffaloes so long as I live."

"I have never said one word to-day about football," I protested.

Lord John gave a shrill whistle, and Summerlee shook his head sadly.

"So early in the day too," said he.  "It is indeed deplorable.  As
I sat there in sad but thoughtful silence----"

"In silence!" cried Lord John.  "Why, you were doin' a music-hall
turn of imitations all the way--more like a runaway gramophone
than a man."

Summerlee drew himself up in bitter protest.

"You are pleased to be facetious, Lord John," said he with a
face of vinegar.

"Why, dash it all, this is clear madness," cried Lord John.
"Each of us seems to know what the others did and none of us
knows what he did himself.  Let's put it all together from the
first.  We got into a first-class smoker, that's clear, ain't
it?  Then we began to quarrel over friend Challenger's letter in
the _Times_."

"Oh, you did, did you?" rumbled our host, his eyelids beginning to droop.