“Perhaps you are not aware,” said he, “that I am a medical man like yourself?” “No, sir, I did not know it.” “Yes, I qualified in my younger days, when there were several lives between me and the peerage. I have not had occasion to practise, but I have found it a useful education, all the same. I never regretted the years which I devoted to medical study. These are the gates of Delamere Court.” We had come to two high pillars crowned with heraldic monsters which flanked the opening of a winding avenue. Over the laurel bushes and rhododendrons I could see a long, many-gabled mansion, girdled with ivy, and toned to the warm, cheery, mellow glow of old brick-work. My eyes were still fixed in admiration upon this delightful house when my companion plucked nervously at my sleeve. “Here’s Sir Thomas,” he whispered. “Please talk beetle all you can.” A tall, thin figure, curiously angular and bony, had emerged through a gap in the hedge of laurels. In his hand he held a spud, and he wore gauntleted gardener’s gloves. A broad-brimmed, grey hat cast his face into shadow, but it struck me as exceedingly austere, with an ill-nourished beard and harsh, irregular features. The fly pulled up and Lord Linchmere sprang out. “My dear Thomas, how are you?” said he, heartily. But the heartiness was by no means reciprocal. The owner of the grounds glared at me over his brother-in-law’s shoulder, and I caught broken scraps of sentences—“well-known wishes ... hatred of strangers ... unjustifiable intrusion ... perfectly inexcusable.” Then there was a muttered explanation, and the two of them came over together to the side of the fly. “Let me present you to Sir Thomas Rossiter, Dr. Hamilton,” said Lord Linchmere. “You will find that you have a strong community of tastes.” I bowed. Sir Thomas stood very stiffly, looking at me severely from under the broad brim of his hat. “Lord Linchmere tells me that you know something about beetles,” said he. “What do you know about beetles?” “I know what I have learned from your work upon the coleoptera, Sir Thomas,” I answered. “Give me the names of the better-known species of the British scarabæi,” said he. I had not expected an examination, but fortunately I was ready for one. My answers seemed to please him, for his stern features relaxed.