e mummy department of the British Museum.
Where was I? Oh, on memory. Yes, there's one thing I remember, in spite
of the Latin roots and weary old Euclid. I recollect what you told me on
that day when you surprised every one by turning tail at the sand-pits.
I've kept it to myself all this time. Is it necessary to keep it a
secret any longer?"

"Yes, Waterman," answered Paul firmly.

"Why? Let me set you right with the Form? It'll be an awful fag, I know.
Still, the vac's coming on, and one can have a good long rest after
one's pulled through."

"No, Waterman," said Paul, shaking his head; "I'm not going to curry
favour that way. You've been a friend to me--a friend where I least
expected to find one. Bear with me a little longer."

"But you don't understand the dust that Newall, Parfitt & Co. are
kicking up? Can't you see that they've got Moncrief major completely
under their thumb? They'll make Garside too hot to hold you."

"We'll see. I'm not beaten yet."

"Better let me speak," persisted Waterman.

Paul shook his head.

"I give you up. You are worse than old Euclid!" exclaimed Waterman,
plunging his hands deeper into his pockets.

With a yawn he strolled towards the door, edged his shoulder round it
until he had opened it wide enough for his body to pass through, closed
it by a like man[oe]uvre, and with the same measured step went on his
way.

"After all, I've got one friend at Garside," thought Paul, with a smile,
"though he does like to take his time over things."

He looked in the glass. His cheek was swollen and bruised. His
appearance was very much what Stanley's had been when he had returned
from the sand-pits after his encounter with Wyndham.

"I hope Stanley is satisfied," he said, smiling grimly at himself in the
glass.

Then he remembered that he hadn't carried out the purpose for which he
had gone to the common room. He had gone there for the purpose of
speaking to him about Mr. Moncrief's letter. It was useless to think of
doing so now. He would put the letter in his desk till a more convenient
season. His hand went to his pocket. The letter had gone!

The old feeling came over him that had come over him on the day when he
had lost that other letter on his way to Redmead. It had disappeared
from his pocket just as mysteriously. He looked around. There was no
trace of it in the room. Then he remembered that he had pulled out his
handkerchief in the common room to staunch the blood from