A maid brought in the tea, and the professor, spread strangely forth in a small, chintz-covered arm-chair, enjoyed it while he talked about oysters and oyster-beds. He was deeply interested in the oysters of Whitstable, and held forth almost romantically on their birth and upbringing, the fattening, the packing, the selling, and the eating of them--"with lemon, not vinegar, mind! To eat vinegar with a Whitstable native is as vicious as to offer a libation of catchup at the altar of a meadow mushroom just picked up out of the dew." Malling did not attempt to turn his mind from edibles. The professor had to be let alone. When tea was finished and cleared away, he observed: "And now, Malling, what is your view? Do you look upon it as a case of transferred personality? I rather gathered from your general tone that you were mentally drifting in that direction." "But are there such cases? Of double transfer, I mean?" "Personally I have never verified one. When you spoke of the reverend gentlemen for the first time, I said, 'Study the link!' There will be development in the link if--all the rest of it." "There has been development, as I told you. The link is on his side now." "That's remarkable, undoubtedly. Has it ever struck you that Harding was almost too successful a clergyman to be a genuinely holy man?" "What do you mean?" "There's a modesty in holiness that is hardly adapted to catch smart women." "You used to go to hear Harding preach." "And d'you know why I liked his sermons?" "Why?" "Because he understood doubt so well. That amused me. But the man who has such a comprehensive understanding of skepticism, is very seldom a true believer. One thing, though, Harding certainly does believe in, judging by a sermon I once heard him preach." "And that is?" "Manicheism. Chichester, you say, was a saint?" "He was, if a man can be a saint who has a certain amiable weakness of character." "And now? You think he would be a difficult customer to tackle now?" "Harding finds him so." "And Harding was an overwhelming chap, cocksure of himself. Chichester must be difficult. Shall I tackle him?" "I wish you would. But how? Do you wish me to introduce him to you?" "Let me see." The professor dropped his head and remained silent for a minute or two. "Tell me something," he at length remarked, lifting his head and assuming his most terrier-like aspect. "Do you think Harding a whited sepulcher?" "Possibly." "And do you think his saintly curate has found it out?" "Do you think that would supply a natural explanation of the mystery?" "Should you prefer to search for it in that malefic region which is the abiding-place of nervous dyspepsia?" "How could--"