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Lord John Roxton and I turned down Vigo Street together andthrough the dingy portals of the famous aristocratic rookery. At the end of a long drab passage my new acquaintance pushed opena door and turned on an electric switch. A number of lamps shiningthrough tinted shades bathed the whole great room before us in aruddy radiance. Standing in the doorway and glancing round me, Ihad a general impression of extraordinary comfort and elegancecombined with an atmosphere of masculine virility. Everywhere therewere mingled the luxury of the wealthy man of taste and thecareless untidiness of the bachelor. Rich furs and strangeiridescent mats from some Oriental bazaar were scattered uponthe floor. Pictures and prints which even my unpractised eyescould recognize as being of great price and rarity hung thick uponthe walls. Sketches of boxers, of ballet-girls, and of racehorsesalternated with a sensuous Fragonard, a martial Girardet, and adreamy Turner. But amid these varied ornaments there werescattered the trophies which brought back strongly to myrecollection the fact that Lord John Roxton was one of the greatall-round sportsmen and athletes of his day. A dark-blue oarcrossed with a cherry-pink one above his mantel-piece spoke ofthe old Oxonian and Leander man, while the foils andboxing-gloves above and below them were the tools of a man whohad won supremacy with each. Like a dado round the room was thejutting line of splendid heavy game-heads, the best of their sortfrom every quarter of the world, with the rare white rhinocerosof the Lado Enclave drooping its supercilious lip above them all.

In the center of the rich red carpet was a black and gold LouisQuinze table, a lovely antique, now sacrilegiously desecratedwith marks of glasses and the scars of cigar-stumps. On it stooda silver tray of smokables and a burnished spirit-stand, fromwhich and an adjacent siphon my silent host proceeded to chargetwo high glasses. Having indicated an arm-chair to me and placedmy refreshment near it, he handed me a long, smooth Havana. Then, seating himself opposite to me, he looked at me long andfixedly with his strange, twinkling, reckless eyes--eyes of acold light blue, the color of a glacier lake.

Through the thin haze of my cigar-smoke I noted the details of aface which was already familiar to me from many photographs--thestrongly-curved nose, the hollow, worn cheeks, the dark, ruddyhair, thin at the top, the crisp, virile moustaches, the small,aggressive tuft upon his projecting chin. Something there was ofNapoleon III., something of Don Quixote, and yet again somethingwhich was the essence of the English country gentleman, the keen,alert, open-air lover of dogs and of horses. His skin was of arich flower-pot red from sun and wind. His eyebrows were tuftedand overhanging, which gave those naturally cold eyes an almostferocious aspect, an impression which was increased by his strongand furrowed brow. In figure he was spare, but very stronglybuilt--indeed, he had often proved that there were few men inEngland capable of such sustained exertions. His height was alittle over six feet, but he seemed shorter on account of apeculiar rounding of the shoulders. Such was the famous LordJohn Roxton as he sat opposite to me, biting hard upon his cigarand watching me steadily in a long and embarrassing silence.

"Well," said he, at last, "we've gone and done it, young fellahmy lad." (This curious phrase he pronounced as if it were all oneword--"young-fellah-me-lad.") "Yes, we've taken a jump, you an' me. I suppose, now, when you went into that room there was no suchnotion in your head--what?"

"No thought of it."

"The same here. No thought of it. And here we are, up to ournecks in the tureen. Why, I've only been back three weeks fromUganda, and taken a place in Scotland, and signed the lease and all. Pretty goin's on--what? How does it hit you?"

"Well, it is all in the main line of my business. I am ajournalist on the Gazette."

"Of course--you said so when you took it on. By the way, I'vegot a small job for you, if you'll help me."

"With pleasure."

"Don't mind takin' a risk, do you?"

"What is the risk?"

"Well, it's Ballinger--he's the risk. You've heard of him?"

"No."

"Why, young fellah, where HAVE you lived? Sir John Ballingeris the best gentleman jock in the north country. I could holdhim on the flat at my best, but over jumps he's my master. Well, it's an open secret that when he's out of trainin' he drinkshard--strikin' an average, he calls it. He got delirium onToosday, and has been ragin' like a devil ever since. His roomis above this. The doctors say that it is all up with the olddear unless some food is got into him, but as he lies in bed witha revolver on his coverlet, and swears he will put six of thebest through anyone that comes near him, there's been a bit of astrike among the serving-men. He's a hard nail, is Jack, and adead shot, too, but you can't leave a Grand National winner todie like that--what?"

"What do you mean to do, then?" I asked.

"Well, my idea was that you and I could rush him. He may bedozin', and at the worst he can only wing one of us, and theother should have him. If we can get his bolster-cover round hisarms and then 'phone up a stomach-pump, we'll give the old dearthe supper of his life."

It was a rather desperate business to come suddenly into one'sday's work. I don't think that I am a particularly brave man. I have an Irish imagination which makes the unknown and the untriedmore terrible than they are. On the other hand, I was brought upwith a horror of cowardice and with a terror of such a stigma. I dare say that I could throw myself over a precipice, like the Hunin the history books, if my courage to do it were questioned, andyet it would surely be pride and fear, rather than courage, whichwould be my inspiration. Therefore, although every nerve in mybody shrank from the whisky-maddened figure which I pictured inthe room above, I still answered, in as careless a voice as Icould command, that I was ready to go. Some further remark ofLord Roxton's about the danger only made me irritable.

"Talking won't make it any better," said I. "Come on."

I rose from my chair and he from his. Then with a littleconfidential chuckle of laughter, he patted me two or three timeson the chest, finally pushing me back into my chair.

"All right, sonny my lad--you'll do," said he. I looked upin surprise.

"I saw after Jack Ballinger myself this mornin'. He blew a holein the skirt of my kimono, bless his shaky old hand, but we got ajacket on him, and he's to be all right in a week. I say, youngfellah, I hope you don't mind--what? You see, between you an' meclose-tiled, I look on this South American business as a mightyserious thing, and if I have a pal with me I want a man I canbank on. So I sized you down, and I'm bound to say that you camewell out of it. You see, it's all up to you and me, for this oldSummerlee man will want dry-nursin' from the first. By the way,are you by any chance the Malone who is expected to get his Rugbycap for Ireland?"

"A reserve, perhaps."

"I thought I remembered your face. Why, I was there when you gotthat try against Richmond--as fine a swervin' run as I saw thewhole season. I never miss a Rugby match if I can help it, forit is the manliest game we have left. Well, I didn't ask you inhere just to talk sport. We've got to fix our business. Here arethe sailin's, on the first page of the Times. There's a Booth boatfor Para next Wednesday week, and if the Professor and you can workit, I think we should take it--what? Very good, I'll fix it with him. What about your outfit?"

"My paper will see to that."

"Can you shoot?"

"About average Territorial standard."

"Good Lord! as bad as that? It's the last thing you young fellahsthink of learnin'. You're all bees without stings, so far aslookin' after the hive goes. You'll look silly, some o' thesedays, when someone comes along an' sneaks the honey. But you'llneed to hold your gun straight in South America, for, unless ourfriend the Professor is a madman or a liar, we may see some queerthings before we get back. What gun have you?"

He crossed to an oaken cupboard, and as he threw it open I caughta glimpse of glistening rows of parallel barrels, like the pipesof an organ.

"I'll see what I can spare you out of my own battery," said he.

One by one he took out a succession of beautiful rifles, openingand shutting them with a snap and a clang, and then patting themas he put them back into the rack as tenderly as a mother wouldfondle her children.

"This is a Bland's .577 axite express," said he. "I got that bigfellow with it." He glanced up at the white rhinoceros. "Ten moreyards, and he'd would have added me to HIS collection.

`On that conical bullet his one chance hangs,'Tis the weak one's advantage fair.'

Hope you know your Gordon, for he's the poet of the horse andthe gun and the man that handles both. Now, here's a usefultool--.470, telescopic sight, double ejector, point-blank up tothree-fifty. That's the rifle I used against the Peruvianslave-drivers three years ago. I was the flail of the Lord up inthose parts, I may tell you, though you won't find it in anyBlue-book. There are times, young fellah, when every one of usmust make a stand for human right and justice, or you never feelclean again. That's why I made a little war on my own. Declared itmyself, waged it myself, ended it myself. Each of those nicksis for a slave murderer--a good row of them--what? That big oneis for Pedro Lopez, the king of them all, that I killed in abackwater of the Putomayo River. Now, here's something thatwould do for you." He took out a beautiful brown-and-silver rifle. "Well rubbered at the stock, sharply sighted, five cartridges tothe clip. You can trust your life to that." He handed it to meand closed the door of his oak cabinet.

"By the way," he continued, coming back to his chair, "what doyou know of this Professor Challenger?"

"I never saw him till to-day."

"Well, neither did I. It's funny we should both sail under sealedorders from a man we don't know. He seemed an uppish old bird. His brothers of science don't seem too fond of him, either. How came you to take an interest in the affair?"

I told him shortly my experiences of the morning, and helistened intently. Then he drew out a map of South Americaand laid it on the table.

"I believe every single word he said to you was the truth," saidhe, earnestly, "and, mind you, I have something to go on when Ispeak like that. South America is a place I love, and I think,if you take it right through from Darien to Fuego, it's thegrandest, richest, most wonderful bit of earth upon this planet. People don't know it yet, and don't realize what it may become. I've been up an' down it from end to end, and had two dryseasons in those very parts, as I told you when I spoke of thewar I made on the slave-dealers. Well, when I was up there Iheard some yarns of the same kind--traditions of Indians and thelike, but with somethin' behind them, no doubt. The more youknew of that country, young fellah, the more you would understandthat anythin' was possible--ANYTHIN'1. There are just some narrowwater-lanes along which folk travel, and outside that it isall darkness. Now, down here in the Matto Grande"--he swept hiscigar over a part of the map--"or up in this corner where threecountries meet, nothin' would surprise me. As that chap saidto-night, there are fifty-thousand miles of water-way runnin'through a forest that is very near the size of Europe. You andI could be as far away from each other as Scotland is fromConstantinople, and yet each of us be in the same great Brazilian forest. Man has just made a track here and a scrape there in the maze. Why, the river rises and falls the best part of forty feet,and half the country is a morass that you can't pass over. Why shouldn't somethin' new and wonderful lie in such a country? And why shouldn't we be the men to find it out? Besides," headded, his queer, gaunt face shining with delight, "there's asportin' risk in every mile of it. I'm like an old golf-ball--I've had all the white paint knocked off me long ago. Life can whack me about now, and it can't leave a mark. But asportin' risk, young fellah, that's the salt of existence. Then it's worth livin' again. We're all gettin' a deal too softand dull and comfy. Give me the great waste lands and the widespaces, with a gun in my fist and somethin' to look for that'sworth findin'. I've tried war and steeplechasin' and aeroplanes,but this huntin' of beasts that look like a lobster-supper dreamis a brand-new sensation." He chuckled with glee at the prospect.

Perhaps I have dwelt too long upon this new acquaintance, but heis to be my comrade for many a day, and so I have tried to sethim down as I first saw him, with his quaint personality and hisqueer little tricks of speech and of thought. It was only theneed of getting in the account of my meeting which drew me atlast from his company. I left him seated amid his pink radiance,oiling the lock of his favorite rifle, while he still chuckled tohimself at the thought of the adventures which awaited us. It wasvery clear to me that if dangers lay before us I could not in allEngland have found a cooler head or a braver spirit with which toshare them.

That night, wearied as I was after the wonderful happenings ofthe day, I sat late with McArdle, the news editor, explaining tohim the whole situation, which he thought important enough tobring next morning before the notice of Sir George Beaumont,the chief. It was agreed that I should write home full accountsof my adventures in the shape of successive letters to McArdle,and that these should either be edited for the Gazette as theyarrived, or held back to be published later, according to thewishes of Professor Challenger, since we could not yet know whatconditions he might attach to those directions which should guideus to the unknown land. In response to a telephone inquiry, wereceived nothing more definite than a fulmination against thePress, ending up with the remark that if we would notify our boathe would hand us any directions which he might think it proper togive us at the moment of starting. A second question from usfailed to elicit any answer at all, save a plaintive bleat fromhis wife to the effect that her husband was in a very violenttemper already, and that she hoped we would do nothing to makeit worse. A third attempt, later in the day, provoked a terrificcrash, and a subsequent message from the Central Exchange thatProfessor Challenger's receiver had been shattered. After thatwe abandoned all attempt at communication.

And now my patient readers, I can address you directly no longer. From now onwards (if, indeed, any continuation of this narrativeshould ever reach you) it can only be through the paper whichI represent. In the hands of the editor I leave this accountof the events which have led up to one of the most remarkableexpeditions of all time, so that if I never return to Englandthere shall be some record as to how the affair came about. I amwriting these last lines in the saloon of the Booth linerFrancisca, and they will go back by the pilot to the keeping ofMr. McArdle. Let me draw one last picture before I close thenotebook--a picture which is the last memory of the old countrywhich I bear away with me. It is a wet, foggy morning in the latespring; a thin, cold rain is falling. Three shining mackintoshedfigures are walking down the quay, making for the gang-plank ofthe great liner from which the blue-peter is flying. In front ofthem a porter pushes a trolley piled high with trunks, wraps,and gun-cases. Professor Summerlee, a long, melancholy figure,walks with dragging steps and drooping head, as one who is alreadyprofoundly sorry for himself. Lord John Roxton steps briskly,and his thin, eager face beams forth between his hunting-cap andhis muffler. As for myself, I am glad to have got the bustlingdays of preparation and the pangs of leave-taking behind me, andI have no doubt that I show it in my bearing. Suddenly, just aswe reach the vessel, there is a shout behind us. It is ProfessorChallenger, who had promised to see us off. He runs after us, apuffing, red-faced, irascible figure.

"No thank you," says he; "I should much prefer not to go aboard. I have only a few words to say to you, and they can very well besaid where we are. I beg you not to imagine that I am in any wayindebted to you for making this journey. I would have you tounderstand that it is a matter of perfect indifference to me, andI refuse to entertain the most remote sense of personal obligation. Truth is truth, and nothing which you can report can affect it inany way, though it may excite the emotions and allay the curiosityof a number of very ineffectual people. My directions for yourinstruction and guidance are in this sealed envelope. You willopen it when you reach a town upon the Amazon which is calledManaos, but not until the date and hour which is marked uponthe outside. Have I made myself clear? I leave the strictobservance of my conditions entirely to your honor. No, Mr. Malone,I will place no restriction upon your correspondence, sincethe ventilation of the facts is the object of your journey; butI demand that you shall give no particulars as to your exactdestination, and that nothing be actually published until your return. Good-bye, sir. You have done something to mitigate my feelingsfor the loathsome profession to which you unhappily belong. Good-bye, Lord John. Science is, as I understand, a sealed bookto you; but you may congratulate yourself upon the hunting-fieldwhich awaits you. You will, no doubt, have the opportunity ofdescribing in the Field how you brought down the rocketing dimorphodon. And good-bye to you also, Professor Summerlee. If you are stillcapable of self-improvement, of which I am frankly unconvinced,you will surely return to London a wiser man."

So he turned upon his heel, and a minute later from the deck Icould see his short, squat figure bobbing about in the distanceas he made his way back to his train. Well, we are well downChannel now. There's the last bell for letters, and it'sgood-bye to the pilot. We'll be "down, hull-down, on the oldtrail" from now on. God bless all we leave behind us, and sendus safely back.