became grey in a few weeks.  Sarpedon was sure to be invited to Oxbridge.  He would meet Dr. Groschen and then expose him.  Our fears, I soon found out, were shared by the savant, who left suddenly on one of those mysterious visits to the East.  I saw that our action must be prompt; or Girdelstone and Monteagle would be lost.  They were horrified when I told them I proposed placing the MS. on public view in the museum immediately.  A large plate-glass case was made by my orders, in which Girdelstone and Monteagle, who obeyed me like lambs, deposited their precious burden.  It was placed in the Groschen Hall of the FitzTaylor.  The crush that afternoon was terrible.  All the University came to peer at the new acquisition.  I must tell you that Dr. Groschen’s antiquities occupied a temporary and fire-proof erection built of wood and tin, at the back of the museum, with which it was connected by a long stone gallery, adorned with plaster casts.

I mingled with the crowd, and heard the remarks; though I advised Girdelstone and Monteagle to keep out of the way, as it would only upset them.  Various dons came up and chaffed me about the opposition I made to the MS. being purchased.  A little man of dark, sallow complexion asked me if I was Professor Girdelstone.  He wanted to obtain leave to examine the MS. I gave him my card, and asked him to call on me, when I would arrange a suitable day.  He told me he was a Lutheran pastor from Pomerania.

I was the last to leave the museum that afternoon.  I often remained in the library long after five, the usual closing hour.  So I dismissed the attendants who locked up everything with the exception of a small door in the stone gallery always used on such occasions.  I waited till six, and as I went out opened near this door a sash window, having removed the iron shutters.  After dinner I went round to Monteagle’s rooms.  He and Girdelstone were sitting in a despondent way on each side of the fire, sipping weak coffee and nibbling Albert biscuits.  They were startled at my entrance.

‘What have you decided?’ asked Girdelstone, hoarsely.

‘All is arranged.  Monteagle and I set fire to the museum to-night,’ I said, quietly.

Girdelstone buried his face in his hands and began to sob.

‘Anything but that—­anything but that!’ he cried.  And Monteagle turned a little pale.  At first they protested, but I overcame their scruples by saying they might get out of the mess how they liked.  I advised Girdelstone to go to bed and plead illness for the next few days, for he really wanted rest.  At eleven o’clock that night, Monteagle and myself crossed the meadows at the back of our college, and by a circuitous route reached the grounds surrounding the museum, which were planted with rhododendrons and other shrubs.  The pouring rain was, unfortunately, not favourable for our enterprise.  I brought however a small box of combustibles from