“Morton!” he shouted; “Morton!”

“Sir?”

“Has Mr. Saunders got back yet?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“Well, bring me some brandy, and hurry up about it.  I’m up here in the gallery, you duffer.”

“Thanks,” said Eustace, as he emptied the glass.  “Don’t go to bed yet, Morton.  There are a lot of books that have fallen down by accident; bring them up and put them back in their shelves.”

Morton had never seen Borlsover in so talkative a mood as on that night.  “Here,” said Eustace, when the books had been put back and dusted, “you might hold up these boards for me, Morton.  That beast in the box got out, and I’ve been chasing it all over the place.”

“I think I can hear it chawing at the books, sir.  They’re not valuable, I hope?  I think that’s the carriage, sir; I’ll go and call Mr. Saunders.”

It seemed to Eustace that he was away for five minutes, but it could hardly have been more than one when he returned with Saunders.  “All right, Morton, you can go now.  I’m up here, Saunders.”

“What’s all the row?” asked Saunders, as he lounged forward with his hands in his pockets.  The luck had been with him all the evening.  He was completely satisfied, both with himself and with Captain Lockwood’s taste in wines.  “What’s the matter?  You look to me to be in an absolute blue funk.”

“That old devil of an uncle of mine,” began Eustace—­“oh, I can’t explain it all.  It’s his hand that’s been playing old Harry all the evening.  But I’ve got it cornered behind these books.  You’ve got to help me catch it.”

“What’s up with you, Eustace?  What’s the game?”

“It’s no game, you silly idiot!  If you don’t believe me take out one of those books and put your hand in and feel.”

“All right,” said Saunders; “but wait till I’ve rolled up my sleeve.  The accumulated dust of centuries, eh?” He took off his coat, knelt down, and thrust his arm along the shelf.

“There’s something there right enough,” he said.  “It’s got a funny stumpy end to it, whatever it is, and nips like a crab.  Ah, no, you don’t!” He pulled his hand out in a flash.  “Shove in a book quickly.  Now it can’t get out.”

“What was it?” asked Eustace.

“It was something that wanted very much to get hold of me.  I felt what seemed like a thumb and forefinger.  Give me some brandy.”

“How are we to get it out of there?”

“What about a landing net?”

“No good.  It would be too smart for us.  I tell you, Saunders, it can cover the ground far faster than I can walk.  But I think I see how we can manage it.  The two books at the end of the shelf are big ones that go right back against the wall.  The others are very thin.  I’ll take out one at a time, and you slide the rest along until we have it squashed between the end two.”

It certainly seemed to be the best plan.  One by one, as they took out the books, the space behind grew smaller and smaller.  There was something in it that was certainly very much alive.  Once they caught sight of fingers pressing outward for a way of escape.  At last they had it pressed between the two big books.