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Freeman, R. Austin (Richard Austin), 1862-1943

"The Vanishing Man"

However, I
reflected, I could put in a couple of hours more before going to bed and
there would be an hour or two to spare in the morning. Finally I locked
the note-books, open as they were, in the writing-table drawer, and
slipping the envelope into my pocket, set out for the Temple.
The soft chime of the Treasury clock was telling out, in confidential
tones, the third quarter as I wrapped with my stick on the forbidding
"oak" of my friends' chambers. There was no response, nor had I
perceived any gleam of light from the windows as I approached, and I was
considering the advisability of trying the laboratory on the next floor,
when footsteps on the stone stairs and familiar voices gladdened my ear.
"Hallo, Berkeley!" said Thorndyke, "do we find you waiting like a Peri
at the gates of Paradise? Polton is upstairs, you know, tinkering at one
of his inventions. If you ever find the nest empty, you had better go up
and bang at the laboratory door. He's always there in the evenings."
"I haven't been waiting long," said I, "and I was just thinking of
rousing him up when you came.


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