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The intruder was the local magnate, the landlord of Stoke, Wenderby, Chilborough, a greater part of Ailesworth, two or three minor parishes, and, incidentally, of Pym. This magnate, Henry Challis, was a man of some scholarship, whose ambition had been crushed by the weight of his possessions.
Then he took his cap and went out. He kept his eyes away from the cradle. Harvey Walters lived in Wenderby, but his consulting-rooms were in Harley Street, and he did not practise in his own neighbourhood; nevertheless he vaccinated Victor Stott to oblige Challis. "Well?" asked Challis a few days later, "what do you make of him, Walters? No clichés, now, and no professional jargon."
It was the rubicund man who, most daring during the crisis, was now bold enough to admit curiosity. "What's your opinion, sir?" he said to me. The train was running into Wenderby; he was preparing to get out; he leaned forward, his fingers on the handle of the door. I was embarrassed. Why had I been singled out by the child? I had taken no part in the recent interjectory conversation.
He came to the bottom of the hill, and after he left me he took the road that goes over the hill to Wenderby. It would be about seven miles back to Pym by that road.... I spent the next afternoon in the Reading Room of the British Museum. I was searching for a precedent, and at last I found one in the story of Christian Heinrich Heinecken, who was born at Lubeck on February 6, 1721.
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