lamp portion falling
out and firing some of the scattered powder, while at the same moment
the lobby door was banged to, shut, and they heard the shooting of the
lock.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

THE COLLECTOR WAKES UP.

Professor Westcott, next door, had another consignment that morning.
The London and North Western Railway Company's men called with their van
and a way-bill to deliver two chests from Birmingham, weighing over two
hundredweight each, both strongly screwed up and roped, and a smaller
line round them, carefully-sealed:--"Books; with great care. To be kept
dry."

There were two men with the van, and a boy, the former making very light
of the heavy chests as they lifted them off the tail-board of the
vehicle, while the professor stood blinking on the steps in his big
spectacles, his grey hair hanging down long from beneath a black velvet
skull-cap, and his rusty dressing-gown, tied on anyhow, reaching nearly
to his heels.

"Rum old owl, Joe," said one of the men. "This makes six chesties I've
delivered since Christmas."

"Books?" said the other. "Yes, books. The old buffer's got his house
chock-full of 'em from top to bottom, I should say. You'll see when we
get in; he'll ask us to carry 'em downstairs."

"All right, mate; I don't mind if its anywheres near the beer cellar."

"Well, it ain't, Tom, and so I tell you. I've delivered boxes o' books
to him for years now, and I never see a glass o' ale yet."

"Stingy old hunks! I say, we ain't 'bliged to carry 'em farther then
the front door. That's delivering."

"Yes, that's delivering, mate, but you're allus in such a hurry. I was
going to say you get no beer, but he'll be as civil as treacle, and
stand rubbing his hands and telling yer to mind and not break the glass
in the book-cases as you passes; and when you've done he twinkles at you
through them Chinee-looking specs of his, and crooks his finger, and
beckons you to follow him into the front room, as is full of books.
Then he brings out a little glass and a bottle of the most heavenly old
sperrets you ever tasted. Tlat! I can taste it yet. Talk about
cordial--why, it's enough to make you say you'll never have a glass in a
pub. again."

"Well, lay hold," said Tom, sharply; "look alive! Can't you see the
gentleman's a-waiting?"

The head van-man chuckled, and together they lifted in chest Number 1,
the professor smiling and looking deeply interested.

"On the mat, if you plea