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Updated: May 3, 2025
Paynter's agent. Professor Nicolovius is going to move in the spring and take an apartment or small house. He has invited me to share such apartment or house with him." "What! But you declined?" "On the contrary, I accepted at once." Mrs. Paynter's agent was much surprised and interested by this news, and said so. "But how in the world," she went on, puzzled, "did you make him like you so?
For apparently no reason at all, there had popped into his head a chance remark of Major Brooke's a year ago, which he had never thought of from that day to this: "I can't get over thinking that I've seen that man before a long time ago, when he looked entirely different, and yet somehow the same too." "I will show you my purchase," added Nicolovius, after a moment of seeming irresolution.
You are rather strong on political economy, I see. Alfred Marshall does very well. Nothing much in philosophy. The Contrat Social absurd." "Do you care for these?" asked Nicolovius, pointing to a row of well-worn works of Bible criticism. "Of course the Germans are far in the lead in this field, and I am unhappily compelled to rely on translations. Still I have " "Here! Look here!
In return I shall have decidedly greater comforts and conveniences, far greater quiet and independence, and complete freedom from interruptions and intrusions. The arrangement will be a big gain in several ways for me." "And have you taken a great fancy to Professor Nicolovius, too?" "Oh, no! not at all. But that has very little to do with it. At least he has the great gift of silence."
An eminently suitable match in every way. Yet I shall not soon forget how that delightful young man defrauded you of the editorship." Silence from Mr. Queed, the question of the editorship having already been thoroughly threshed out between them. "I, too, saw the gallant proceedings," resumed Nicolovius, retracing his thought. "What an outfit! What an outfit!"
On the contrary, he found himself mysteriously answering the growing dependence of the old man with a growing sense of responsibility toward him, and discovering in the process a curious and subtle kind of compensation. What troubled Queed about Nicolovius as the world called him was his money. He, Queed, was in part living on this money, eating it, drinking it, sleeping on it.
"It is certain, I suppose," said Nicolovius, "that they will name you?" "Oh, not at all by no means! I am merely receptive, that is all." Queed glanced at his watch and rose. "There is half an hour before supper, I see. I think I must turn it to account." Nicolovius looked regretful. "Why not allow yourself this minute's rest, and me the pleasure of your society?" Queed hesitated.
Now that they lived together, however, the multiplying suggestions that the old professor was something far other than he pretended became rather important. The young man could not help being aware that Nicolovius neither looked nor talked in the slightest degree like an Irishman.
Queed sat down in a big-armed rocker, and looked out the window into the pink west. So, in a minute's time and by a wholly chance happening, the mystery was out at last. Professor Nicolovius, the bland recluse of Mrs. Paynter's, and Henry G. Surface, political arch-traitor, ex-convict, and falsest of false friends, were one and the same man.
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