It was Checkley. The old man walking feebly, with bent head, came out from the entrance of No. 22 and turned northward into Field Court. They waited, watching him, until he left the Square. 'What is he doing there?' asked George again. 'Come. Edmund Gray must be at home. Let us go up.' They found the outer door shut. They knocked with their sticks: there was no answer. 'What was he doing here?' asked Athelstan. The Scholar's door stood open. The Scholar himself was for once perfectly sober, and welcomed them joyously and boisterously. 'We are here on business, Freddy,' said Athelstan. 'You are here to sit and talk and drink whisky-and-soda till midnight, till two o'clock in the morning. It is not until two in the morning that you can get the full flavour of the Inn. It is like a college then, monastic, shut off from the world, peaceful----' 'Business first, then. You know your neighbour, Mr. Edmund Gray?' 'Certainly. We exchange the compliments of the season and the news of the weather when we meet on the stairs. He has been in here, but not often. A man who drinks nothing is your true damper. That, believe me, and no other, was the veritable skeleton at the Feast.' 'Our business concerns your neighbour, Mr. Edmund Gray. We want you to tell us what you know about him.' 'Go on, then. Question, and I will answer, if I can.' 'Does Mr. Edmund Gray live at these Chambers?' 'No. He may sometimes sleep in them, but I should say not often. He calls at irregular intervals. Sometimes in the afternoon, sometimes in the morning, sometimes not for several weeks together. He is most uncertain.' 'Do many people call upon him?' 'No one ever calls upon him.' 'Does he keep clerks? Does he carry on an extensive correspondence?' 'I have never heard the postman knock at his door.' 'Has he a son or a brother or a partner or anything?' 'I don't know. He may have these hindrances, but they are not apparent.' 'What is his occupation or trade?' 'He is a Socialist. He is athirst for the destruction of property. Meantime, I believe, he lives on his own. Perhaps his will be spared to the last. He is an old gentleman of pleasant manners and of benevolent aspect. The old women beg of him; the children ask him the time; the people who have lost their way apply to him. He dreams all the time: he lives in a world impossible. Oh! quite impossible. Why, in a world all Socialist, I myself should be impossible. They wouldn't have me. My old friend told me the other day that I should not be tolerated. They would kill me. All because I do no work--or next to none.' George looked at Athelstan. 'We are farther off than ever,' he said. 'Mr. Edmund Gray believes that the Kingdom of Heaven is a kind of hive where everybody has got to work with enormous zeal, and where nobody owns anything. Also he thinks that it is close at hand, which makes him a very happy old gentleman.' 'This can't be Checkley,' said George.