Professor, as he rose to leave the Shelter, positively added to his fellow-citizen of the Broken Nose—
"Oh! And by the way! Of course, he will ask who the Coat is from. … Say it is from Mr. Hitchenbrook." He pretended to feel in his pocket. "No, I haven't got a card; anyhow, say Mr. Hitchenbrook—Mr. Hitchenbrook, of Cashington," he added genially, to round off the wicked lie.
Thus relieved of duty and thus divorced from Heaven, Professor Higginson nodded authoritatively to the Broken Nose, cheerfully to the other two men (who touched their hair with their forefingers in reply), and strode out again to follow the tram lines into the town.
****
Now here, most upright of readers, you will say that the Philosopher has fallen to his lowest depth, and that no further crime he may commit can entertain you.
You are in error. The depths of evil are infinite, and the Professor, as he walked down the long road which brought him to Ormeston, was but entering that long road of the spirit which leads to full damnation.
