"
Loder waved his hand. "Whose time is his own?" he said.
Chilcote, encouraged by the remark, drew nearer to the fire.
Until this moment he had refrained from looking directly at
his host; now, however, he raised his eyes, and, despite his
preparation, he recoiled unavoidably before the extraordinary
resemblance. Seen here, in the casual surroundings of a badly
furnished and crudely lighted room, it was even more
astounding than it had been in the mystery of the fog.
"Forgive me," he said again. "It is physical--purely
physical. I am bowled over against my will."
Loder smiled. The slight contempt that Chilcote had first
inspired rose again, and with it a second feeling less easily
defined. The man seemed so unstable, so incapable, yet so
grotesquely suggestive to himself.
"The likeness is rather overwhelming," he said; "but not heavy
enough to sink under. Come nearer the fire. What brought you
here? Curiosity?" There was a wooden arm-chair by the
fireplace. He indicated it with a wave of the hand; then
turned and took up his smouldering pipe.
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