"Absolutely certain," Burton declared sadly. "I found myself this evening trying to kiss my landlady's daughter, who is not in the least good-looking. I was attracted by the programme of a music hall and had hard work to keep from going there. A man asked me the way to Leicester Square just now, and I almost directed him wrongly for the sheer pleasure of telling a lie. I nearly bought some ties at an outfitter's shop in the Strand--such ties! It's awful--awful, Mr. Waddington!" Mr. Waddingon nodded his head compassionately. "I suppose you know what you're talking about," he said. "You see, I have already taken my second bean and to me the things that you have spoken of seem altogether incredible. I could not bring myself to believe that an absolute return to those former horrible conditions would be possible for either you or me. By the bye," he added, with a sudden change of tone, "I've just managed to get a photograph of the Romney I was telling you of." Burton waved it away. "It doesn't interest me in the least," he declared gloomily. "I very nearly bought a copy of Ally Sloper on my way down here." Mr. Waddington shivered. "I suppose there is no hope for you," he said. "It is excessively painful for me to see you in this state. On the whole, I think that the sooner you take the bean, the better." Burton suddenly sat up in his chair. "What are those sheets of paper you have on the table?" he asked quickly. "They are the sheets of paper left with the little flower-pot in the room of Idlemay House," Mr. Waddington answered. "I was just looking them through and wondering what language it was they were written in. It is curious, too, that our friend should have only translated the last few lines." Burton rose from his chair and leaned over the table, looking at them with keen interest. "It was about those papers that I started out to come and see you," he declared. "There must be some way by which we could make the action of these beans more permanent. I propose that we get the rest of the pages translated. We may find them most valuable." Mr. Waddington was rather inclined to favor the idea. "I cannot think," he admitted, "why it never occurred to us before. Whom do you propose to take them to?" "There is some one I know who lives a little way down in the country," Burton replied. "He is a great antiquarian and Egyptologist, and if any one can translate them, I should think he would be able to. Lend me the sheets of manuscript just as they are, and I will take them down to him to-morrow. It may tell us, perhaps, how to deal with the plant so that we can get more of the beans. Eight months is no use to me. When I am like this, just drifting back, everything seems possible. I can even see myself back at Clematis Villa, walking with Ellen, listening to the band, leaning over the bar of the Golden Lion. Listen!" He stopped short. A barrel organ outside was playing a music hall ditty. His head kept time to the music.