“Do,” said Septimus, shivering.  “Do you mind if I go back to bed?”

“Do anything, except go to sleep,” said Sypher.  “Look here.  I’m sorry if I disturbed you, but I couldn’t wait.  I’m off to the office and heaven knows when I shall be back.  I want to talk to you about this.”

He sat on the foot of the bed and threw the proofs of the gun book on to Septimus’s body, vaguely outlined beneath the clothes.  In the gray November light—­Zora’s carefully chosen curtains and blinds had not been drawn—­Sypher, pink and shiny, his silk hat (which he wore) a resplendent miracle of valetry, looked an urban yet roseate personification of Dawn.  He seemed as eager as Septimus was supine.

“I’ve sat up half the night over this thing,” said he, “and I really believe you’ve got it.”

“Got what?” asked Septimus.

“It.  The biggest thing on earth, bar Sypher’s Cure.”

“Wait till I’ve worked out my railway carriages,” said Septimus.

“Your railway carriages!  Good gracious!  Haven’t you any sense of what you’re doing?  Here you’ve worked out a scheme that may revolutionize naval gunnery, and you talk rot about railway carriages.”

“I’m glad you like the book,” said Septimus.

“Are you going to publish it?”

“Of course.”

“Ask your publisher how much he’ll take to let you off your bargain.”

“I’m publishing it at my own expense,” said Septimus, in the middle of a yawn.

“And presenting it gratis to the governments of the world?”

“Yes.  I might send them copies,” said Septimus.  “It’s a good idea.”

Clem Sypher thrust his hat to the back of his head, and paced the room from the wash-stand past the dressing-table to the wardrobe and back again.

“Well, I’m hanged!” said he.

Septimus asked why.

“I thought I was a philanthropist,” said Sypher, “but by the side of you I’m a vulture.  Has it not struck you that, if the big gun is what I think, any government on earth would give you what you like to ask for the specification?”

“Really?  Do you think they would give me a couple of hundred pounds?” asked Septimus, thinking vaguely of Mordaunt Prince in Naples and his overdrawn banking account.  The anxiety of his expression was not lost on Sypher.

“Are you in need of a couple of hundred pounds?” he asked.

“Until my dividends are due.  I’ve been speculating, and I’m afraid I haven’t a head for business.”

“I’m afraid you haven’t,” grinned Sypher, leaning over the footrail of the bed.  “Next time you speculate come to me first for advice.  Let me be your agent for these guns, will you?”

“I should be delighted,” said Septimus, “and for the railway carriages too.  There’s also a motor car I’ve invented which goes by clockwork.  You’ve got to wind it by means of a donkey engine.  It’s quite simple.”

“I should think it would be,” said Sypher drily.  “But I’ll only take on the guns just for the present.”