to
be under any misapprehension about that 'horrid man'--he was just as
scared as you, and he would not have harmed you. I have been waiting for
him all the evening."

"Waiting for him?"

He nodded again.

"Where?"

"In the doctor's flat," he said calmly, "you see, the doctor and I are
deadly rivals. We are rival scientists, and I was waiting for the hairy
man to steal a march on him."

"But, but--how did you get in."

"I had this key," he said holding up a small key, "remember, word of
honour! The man whom I have just left came up and wasn't certain whether
he had to go in No. 8, that's the doctor's, or No. 6--_and the one key
fits both doors!_"

He inserted the key which was in the lock of her door and it turned
easily.

"And this is what I was waiting for--it was the best the poor devil
could do."

He lifted the paper package and broke the seals. Unfolding the paper
carefully he laid it on the table, revealing a teaspoonful of what
looked like fine green sawdust.

"What is it?" she whispered fearfully.

Somehow she knew that she was in the presence of a big elementary
danger--something gross and terrible in its primitive force.

"That," said Mr. Beale, choosing his words nicely, "that is a passable
imitation of the Green Rust, or, as it is to me, the Green Terror."

"The Green Rust? What is the Green Rust--what can it do?" she asked in
bewilderment.

"I hope we shall never know," he said, and in his clear eyes was a hint
of terror.

CHAPTER III

PUNSONBY'S DISCHARGE AN EMPLOYEE

Oliva Cresswell rose with the final despairing buzz of her alarm clock
and conquered the almost irresistible temptation to close her eyes, just
to see what it felt like. Her first impression was that she had had no
sleep all night. She remembered going to bed at one and turning from
side to side until three. She remembered deciding that the best thing to
do was to get up, make some tea and watch the sun rise, and that whilst
she was deciding whether such a step was romantic or just silly, she
must have gone to sleep.

Still, four hours of slumber is practically no slumber to a healthy girl
and she swung her pyjama-ed legs over the side of the bed and spent
quite five minutes in a fatuous admiration of her little white feet.
With an effort she dragged herself to the bath-room and let the tap run.
Then she put on the kettle. Half an hour later she was feeling well but
unenthusiastic.

When she became fully