But he has one fault.

He doesn't take kindly to scientific gentlemen in your line of business." Lemuel paused, and pointed to his brother's hands.

"If he smelt that, he might try his teeth at vivisecting You." The spots of blood which Ovid had once seen on Benjulia's stick, were on his hands now.

With unruffled composure he looked at the horrid stains, silently telling their tale of torture.
"What's the use of washing my hands," he answered, "when I am going back to my work ?" He wiped his finger and thumb on the tail of his coat.

"Now," he resumed, "if you have got your letter with you, let me look at it." Lemuel produced the letter.