ered over his chief's shoulder.

"That is what I mean, Bones. And where does the passage lead to?"

"That goes straight from my sleepin' room to the room marked L," said
Bones, in triumph.

"Then you _were_ going to be a demon king," said the admiring Hamilton.
"But fortunately for you, Bones, the descent to L is not so easy--you've
drawn a party wall across----"

"L stands for laboratory," explained the architect hurriedly. "An'
where's the wall? God bless my jolly old soul, so I have! Anyway, that
could have been rectified in a jiffy."

"Speaking largely," said Hamilton, after a careful scrutiny of the plan,
"I think Mojeri has acted wisely. You will have to be content with the
one room. What was the general idea of the house, anyway?"

"Science an' general illumination of the human mind," said Bones
comprehensively.

"I see," said Hamilton. "You were going to make fireworks. A splendid
idea, Bones."

"Painful as it is to undeceive you, dear old sir," said Bones,
with admirable patience, "I must tell you that I'm takin' up my
medical studies where I left off. Recently I've been wastin' my time,
sir: precious hours an' minutes have been passed in frivolous
amusement--_tempus fugit_, sir an' captain, _festina lente_, an'
I might add----"

"Don't," begged Hamilton; "you give me a headache."

There was a look of interest in Bones's eyes.

"If I may be allowed to prescribe, sir----" he began.

"Thanks, I'd rather have the headache," replied Hamilton hastily.

It was nearly a week before the laboratory was fitted that Bones gave a
house-warming, which took the shape of an afternoon tea. Bones, arrayed
in a long white coat, wearing a ferocious lint mask attached to huge
mica goggles, through which he glared on the world, met the party at the
door and bade them a muffled welcome. They found the interior of the hut
a somewhat uncomfortable place. The glass retorts, test tubes, bottles,
and the paraphernalia of science which Bones had imported crowded the
big table, the shelves, and even overflowed on to the three available
chairs.

"Welcome to my little workroom," said the hollow voice of Bones from
behind the mask. "Wel----Don't put your foot in the crucible, dear old
officer! You're sittin' on the methylated spirits, ma'am! Phew!"

Bones removed his mask and showed a hot, red face.

"Don't take it off, Bones," begged Hamilton; "it improves you."

Sanders was examining the microscope, which stood under a