“The unscientific call it an ‘underhung jaw,’ ” explained Leon, “and it is mistaken for strength. It is only normal in Piedmont where the brachycephalic skull is so common. With such a skull, progenism is almost a natural condition.”
“Progenism or not, he was a good fellow,” insisted Manfred and Leon nodded. “With well-developed wisdom teeth,” he added slyly, and Gonsalez went red, for teeth formed a delicate subject with him. Nevertheless he grinned.
“It will interest you to know, my dear George,” he said triumphantly, “that when the famous Dr. Carrara examined the teeth of four hundred criminals and a like number of non-criminals—you will find his detailed narrative in the monograph ‘Sullo Sviluppo Del Terzo Dente Morale Net Criminali’—he found the wisdom tooth more frequently present in normal people.”
“I grant you the wisdom tooth,” said Manfred hastily. “Look at the bay! Did you ever see anything more perfect?”
They were sitting on a little green lawn overlooking Babbacombe Beach. The sun was going down and a perfect day was drawing to its close. High above the blue sea towered the crimson cliffs and green fields of Devon.
Manfred looked at his watch.
“Are we dressing for dinner?” he asked, “or has your professional friend Bohemian tastes?”
“He is of the new school,” said Leon, “rather superior, rather immaculate, very Balliol. I am anxious that you should meet him, his hands are rather fascinating.”
Manfred in his wisdom did not ask why.
“I met him at golf,” Gonsalez went on, “and certain things happened which interested me. For example, every time he saw an earthworm he stopped to kill it and displayed such an extraordinary fury in the assassination that I was astounded. Prejudice has no place in the scientific mind. He is exceptionally wealthy. People at the club told me that his uncle left him close on a million, and the estate of his aunt or cousin who died last year was valued at another million and he was the sole legatee. Naturally a good catch. Whether Miss Moleneux thinks the same I have had no opportunity of gauging,” he added after a pause.
“Good lord!” cried Manfred in consternation as he jumped up from his chair. “She is coming to dinner too, isn’t she?”
“And her mamma,” said Leon solemnly. “Her mamma has learnt Spanish by correspondence lessons, and insists upon greeting me with ‘habla usted Espanol Espanol?’ ”
The two men had rented Cliff House for the spring. Manfred loved Devonshire in April when the slopes of the hills were yellow with primroses and daffodils made a golden path across the Devon lawns. “Señor Fuentes” had taken the house after one inspection and found the calm and the peace which only nature’s treasury of colour and fragrance could bring to his active mind.
Manfred had dressed and was sitting by the wood fire in the drawing-room when the purr of a motorcar coming cautiously down the cliff road brought him to his feet and through the open French window.
Leon Gonsalez had joined him before the big limousine had come to a halt before the porch.
The first to alight was a man and George observed him closely. He was tall and thin. He was not bad looking, though the face was lined and the eyes deep set and level. He greeted Gonsalez with just a tiny hint of patronage in his tone.
“I hope we haven’t kept you waiting, but my experiments detained me. Nothing went right in the laboratory today. You know Miss Moleneux and Mrs. Moleneux?”
Manfred was introduced and found himself shaking hands with a grave-eyed girl of singular beauty.
Manfred was unusually sensitive to “atmosphere” and there was something about this girl which momentarily chilled him. Her frequent smile, sweet as it was and undoubtedly sincere, was as undoubtedly mechanical. Leon, who judged people by reason rather than instinct, reached his conclusion more surely and gave shape and definite description to what in Manfred’s mind was merely a distressful impression. The girl was afraid! Of what? wondered Leon. Not of that stout, complacent little woman whom she called mother, and surely not of this thin-faced academic gentleman in pince-nez.
Gonsalez had introduced Dr. Viglow and whilst the ladies were taking off their cloaks in Manfred’s room above, he had leisure to form a judgment. There was no need for him to entertain his guest. Dr. Viglow spoke fluently, entertainingly and all the time.
“Our friend here plays a good game of golf,” he said, indicating Gonsalez, “a good game of golf indeed for a foreigner. You two are Spanish?”
Manfred nodded. He was more thoroughly English than the doctor, did that gentleman but know, but it was as a Spaniard and armed, moreover, with a Spanish passport that he was a visitor to Britain.
“I understood you to say that your investigations have taken rather a sensational turn, Doctor,” said Leon and a light came into Dr. Viglow’s eyes.
“Yes,” he said complacently, and then quickly, “who told you that?”
“You told me yourself at the club this morning.”
The doctor frowned.
“Did I?” he said and passed his hand across his forehead. “I can’t recollect that. When was this?”
“This morning,” said Leon, “but your mind was probably occupied with much more important matters.”
The young professor bit his lip and frowned thoughtfully.
“I ought not to have forgotten what happened this morning,” he said in a troubled tone.
He gave the impression to Manfred that one half of him was struggling desperately to overcome a something in the other half. Suddenly he laughed.
“A sensational turn!” he said. “Yes indeed, and I rather think that within a few months I shall not be without fame, even in my own country! It is, of course, terribly expensive. I was only reckoning up today that my typists’ wages come to nearly £60 a week.”
Manfred opened his eyes at this.
“Your typists’ wages?” he repeated slowly. “Are you preparing a book?”
“Here are the ladies,” said Dr. Felix.
His manner was abrupt to rudeness and later when they sat round the
