But one ingredient, in particular, seemed almost impossible to be found.

Some chemists plainly admitted they had never seen it; others denied that such a drug existed, excepting in the imagination of crazy alchemists; and most of them attempted to satisfy their customer, by producing some substitute, which, when rejected by Wayland, as not being what he had asked for, they maintained possessed, in a superior degree, the self-same qualities.

In general they all displayed some curiosity concerning the purpose for which he wanted it.

One old, meagre chemist, to whom the artist put the usual question, in terms which Tressilian neither understood nor could recollect, answered frankly, there was none of that drug in London, unless Yoglan the Jew chanced to have some of it upon hand.
"I thought as much," said Wayland.

And as soon as they left the shop, he said to Tressilian, "I crave your pardon, sir, but no artist can work without his tools.