Burton pulled out a newspaper, unfolded it, and handed it over, pointing to a short paragraph. We understand that a new high explosive of immense power, the invention of Dr. Bertram Micklewright, is about to be adopted for the British Navy. Dr. Micklewright has been for some years engaged in perfecting his discovery, and after prolonged experimentation has succeeded in rendering his explosive stable. "Well, I’m hanged!" cried Micklewright, frowning with annoyance. "The Admiralty swore me to secrecy, and now they’ve let the cat out of the bag. Some confounded whipper-snapper of a clerk, I suppose, who’s got a journalist brother." "It’s true, then?" "Yes, by Jove, it’s true! Look, here’s the stuff; licks lyddite hollow." He took some yellowish crystals from a porcelain bath and displayed them with the pride of an inventor. "I say, Pickles, is it safe?" said Burton, backing as the chemist held the stuff up for his inspection. "Perfectly," said Micklewright with a smile. "It’s more difficult even than lyddite to detonate, and it’ll burn without exploding. Look here!" He put a small quantity into a zinc pan, lit a match, and applied it. A column of suffocating smoke rose swiftly to the roof. Burton spluttered. "Beautiful!" he gasped ironically. "I’m glad, old man; your fortune’s made now, I suppose. But I can’t say I like the stink. Takes your appetite away, don’t it?" "Ah! You mentioned lunch. Just get me that stuff like a good fellow; then I’ll prepare my solution; and then we’ll have lunch and you can dispose of me as you please." II Burton returned to the creek, boarded his flying-boat, and was soon skimming across country on the fifteen-mile flight to Chatham. He had been Micklewright’s fag at school, and the two had remained close friends ever since. Micklewright, after carrying all before him at Cambridge, devoted himself to research, and particularly to the study of explosives. To avoid the risk of shattering a neighbourhood, he had built his laboratory on the Luddenham Marshes, putting up the picturesque little cottage close at hand for his residence. There he lived attended only by an old woman, who often assured him that no one else would be content to stay in so dreary a spot. He had wished Burton, when he left school, to join him as assistant: but the younger fellow had no love for "stinks," and threw in his lot with a firm of aeroplane builders. Their factory being on the Isle of Sheppey, within a few miles of Micklewright’s laboratory, the two friends saw each other pretty frequently; and when Burton started a flying-boat of his own, he often invited himself to spend a week-end with Micklewright, and took him for long flights for the good of his health, as he said: "an antidote to your poisonous stenches, old man."