THE EQUINOX
always ending
up with kisses in the old armchair, and a
dainty dinner.
This had continued for nearly three years with no inter-
ruption but once when the Professor’s wife, from whom he
had long been separated, succeeded in getting into the house
on some pretence, and creating a very considerable uproar
before the Professor and his butler could master her rage.
She was a big muscular woman from Australia with the
body of a tiger and the temper of a snake.
She would have
made a winning fight of it but for Zircon’s adroit sortie to
the laboratory and timely return with a bottle of chloroform.
The Professor dined alone that night; at the very outset
of the battle Muriel had fled in tears to the little room in
VValham Green where she lived under the alleged guardian-
ship of a most paunchy ex—dresser.
No other incident disturbed the ripples of their harmless,
petty liaison.
Even the earlier rumours of the brother in
Alaska had died down to folk-lore
The Professor had never
got away from his work in time to hear her play the fiddle ;
anyhow, he hated music.
Nor had Muriel ever stayed too
late to alarm her landlady, who thought she played at supper
as well as at tea.
The illness of the Secretary
for War
alarmed only the German Ambassador, who could not be
positive that in case of his death an accident might not
happen and a capable person be appointed to the post.
The
annoyance of his death—telephoned to the Office at three
o’clock one afternoon—was concentrated on Professor Zircon,
torn away from a compound with half the Greek Alphabet
dotted about its name by a white-haired little Colonel who
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