"_Our_ motor," the other broke in sharply. "Oh, of course," said his colleague impatiently. "The motor which you thought of, and which I reduced to practice--call it what you like." "I call it the Brown-Pericord Motor," cried the inventor, with an angry flash of his dark eyes. "You worked out the details, but the abstract thought is mine, and mine alone." "An abstract thought won't turn an engine," said Brown doggedly. "That was why I took you into partnership," the other retorted, drumming nervously with his fingers upon the table. "I invent, you build. It is a fair division of labour." Brown pursed up his lips, as though by no means satisfied upon the point. Seeing, however, that further argument was useless, he turned his attention to the machine, which was shivering and rocking with each swing of its arms, as though a very little more would send it skimming from the table. "Is it not splendid?" cried Pericord. "It is satisfactory," said the more phlegmatic Anglo-Saxon. "There's immortality in it!" "There's money in it!" "Our names will go down with Montgolfier's." "With Rothschild's, I hope." "No, no, Brown; you take too material a view," cried the inventor, raising his gleaming eyes from the machine to his companion. "Our fortunes are a mere detail. Money is a thing which every heavy-witted plutocrat in the country shares with us. My hopes rise to something higher than that. Our true reward will come in the gratitude and goodwill of the human race." Brown shrugged his shoulders. "You may have my share of that," he said. "I am a practical man. We must test our invention." "Where can we do it?" "That is what I wanted to speak about. It must be absolutely secret. If we had private grounds of our own it would be an easy matter, but there is no privacy in London." "We must take it into the country." "I have a suggestion to offer," said Brown. "My brother has a place in Sussex on the high land near Beachy Head. There is, I remember, a large and lofty barn near the house. Will is in Scotland, but the key is always at my disposal. Why not take the machine down to-morrow and test it in the barn?" "Nothing could be better." "There is a train to Eastbourne at one." "I shall be at the station." "Bring the gear with you, and I will bring the flanges," said the mechanician, rising. "To-morrow will prove whether we have been following a shadow, or whether fortune is at our feet. One o'clock at Victoria." He walked swiftly down the stair and was quickly reabsorbed into the flood of comfortless clammy humanity which ebbed and flowed along the Strand. * * * * *