Phase VI.—Jane Brown
Two or three days after Lomas received an invitation to lunch in Wimpole Street.
"I owe you one," Reggie wrote. "I owe myself one. I want to forget the high tea of Alwynstow. Do you remember the pickles? And the bacon? What had that pig been doing? A neurasthenic, I fear. A student of the Nematoda."
So naturally when Lomas came his first question was what may Nematoda be.
"Never mind," Reggie sighed. "It's a painful subject. A disgusting subject. Same like what we make our living by. They are among the criminals of animal life. Real bad eggs. A sad world, Lomas, old thing. Let's forget all about crime."
They did. For an hour and a half. At the end of which Lomas said dreamily. "You're a remarkable fellow, Fortune. I don't know how you can retain any brain. You do yourself so well. Yes, most seductive habit of life. I meant to say something when I came. What was it? I believe you have talked of everything else in creation. Ah, yes, did you ever hear of the Kimball case? Well, I think we have combed it all out."
"Have you, though?" Reggie sat up.
"Yes. We've been dealing with a stockbroker or two. I'm really afraid there was a little bullying.
