The devil looked at his watch. "Ten past two," he said. "Closing-time in summer same then as now--seven o'clock. That will give you almost five hours. At seven o'clock--pouf!--you find yourself again here, sitting at this table. I am dining to-night dans le monde--dans le higlif. That concludes my present visit to your great city. I come and fetch you here, Mr. Soames, on my way home." "Home?" I echoed. "Be it never so humble!" said the devil, lightly. "All right," said Soames. "Soames!" I entreated. But my friend moved not a muscle. The devil had made as though to stretch forth his hand across the table, but he paused in his gesture. "A hundred years hence, as now," he smiled, "no smoking allowed in the reading-room. You would better therefore--" Soames removed the cigarette from his mouth and dropped it into his glass of Sauterne. "Soames!" again I cried. "Can't you"--but the devil had now stretched forth his hand across the table. He brought it slowly down on the table-cloth. Soames's chair was empty. His cigarette floated sodden in his wine-glass. There was no other trace of him. For a few moments the devil let his hand rest where it lay, gazing at me out of the corners of his eyes, vulgarly triumphant. A shudder shook me. With an effort I controlled myself and rose from my chair. "Very clever," I said condescendingly. "But--'The Time Machine' is a delightful book, don't you think? So entirely original!" "You are pleased to sneer," said the devil, who had also risen, "but it is one thing to write about an impossible machine; it is a quite other thing to be a supernatural power." All the same, I had scored.