"Doctor," said he, "I have been told that you were engaged in a series of brilliant chemical researches; that you had proved, or were on the point of proving, that several, at least, of the so-called elementary metals are compounds; thus ushering in the realization of the dream of the alchemists--the transmutation of metals----" "You have not come here to interview me on the subject of my chemical researches?" laughed Murdock. "Why not?" "Because I gave you credit for possessing the scientific spirit. A man spends years in making a series of exhaustive experiments, and refrains from advancing any theory until he has built up an elaborate monument of cold facts; and you ask him to make a premature report to be spread broadcast in a sensational sheet, with all the embellishments which an unbridled reportorial imagination can add to it. No sir, my report, when it is ready, will be made through the proper channels. I am surprised that one who passes for a man of science should be willing to make such a request." If Murdock intended to gall the reporter, he succeeded; for, modest as he was, Sturgis prided himself above all things upon the scientific value of his work in all its aspects. He manifested no external sign of annoyance, however, as he answered with a smile: "I am not a man of science now, but only a reporter." "In that case," replied Murdock, "let us talk of something else. I should be pleased to discuss my chemical researches with Mr. Sturgis, the scientist; but with Mr. Sturgis, the reporter, I should prefer to talk about something in his line of knowledge; let me see, shall we say the Knickerbocker Bank Mystery, for instance?" The reporter's ear detected the venomous sarcasm to which he was now accustomed from this strange man. He raised his eyes to those of the chemist, and for the space of a few seconds the two men looked steadily into each other's souls. Then a sudden light flashed across Sturgis's brain, and he started perceptibly. At the same time, he thought he saw a shadow cross Murdock's impassive features; but in this he might have been mistaken, for when he looked again, the chemist was regarding him with an air of mild curiosity. "Is anything the matter, Mr. Sturgis?" he asked. "Only a sudden thought," carelessly replied Sturgis, who, to all appearances, had completely recovered from the momentary shock produced by the suddenness of the suspicion which had crossed his mind. "Your mention of the Knickerbocker Bank Mystery reminded me of something, that is all." "Ever since Sprague's dinner," said Murdock, "I have been devoting all my spare time to the reading of the _Tempest_, in the hope of finding there a sensational account, with glaring headlines, of the brilliant work of our 'distinguished reporter, Mr. Sturgis.'" Sturgis made no reply. His eyes were fixed upon the typewriter which stood near Murdock's desk.