have no such scruple." He tore the print across, and across again.
"Even in this," he said, with a glance at the Admiral, who winced,
"we may perhaps read a lesson, or at least a warning, that man's
presumption in extending the bounds of his knowledge--or, as I should
prefer to call it, his curiosity--may--er--bring him face to face
with--"

But the Canon's speech tailed off as he regarded the torn pieces of
cardboard in his hand. He felt that the others had been seriously
perturbed and were not listening: he himself was conscious of a shock
too serious for that glib emollient--usually so efficacious--the sound
of his own voice. He perceived that it did not impose even on the
photographer. An uncomfortable silence fell on the room.

Sir Felix was the first to recover. "Put it in the waste-paper basket:
no, in the fire!" he commanded, and turned to Smithers. "Surely between
these two extremes--"

"I was on the point of suggesting that your Worships would find No. 3
more satisfactory," the photographer interrupted, forgetting his manners
in his anxiety to restore these three gentlemen to their ease.
His own discomfort was acute, and he overacted, as a man will who has
unwittingly surprised a State secret and wishes to assure everyone of
his obtuseness.

Sir Felix studied No. 3. "This appears to me a very ordinary
photograph. Without being positively displeasing, the face is one you
might pass in the street any day, and forget."

"I hope it suggests no--no well-known features?" put in the Canon