"Don't be stern, Otty," he entreated. "It is past pardon. I know, and to-morrow--later in the morning, I should say--you'll find that the defendant feels his position acutely. Honour bright, I'll do you credit in the dock. . . . Wish I was as sure of Farrell. But, as for the story, as I am a sober man, I don't know where to begin. There's a wicked uncle mixed up in it, and a wicked nephew and a taxi, and a lady with a reticule, and a picture palace, and a water-pipe, and heaps upon heaps of policemen--they're the worst mixed up of the lot--" "Begin at the beginning," I commanded. "That is, unless you'd rather defer the whole story for the magistrate's ear." "The whole story?" He chuckled. "I'd like to see the Beak's face. . . . No, I couldn't possibly. My good Otty, how many people d'you reckon it would compromise?" "You've compromised Farrell pretty thoroughly, anyhow," said I grimly: "and you've compromised the cause in which I happen to be interested. Has it occurred to you, my considerate young friend, that Farrell has receded to 1000 to 1 in the betting?--that, in short, you've lost us the seat?" "_I_ compromise Farrell?"--Jimmy sat up and exclaimed it indignantly. "_I_ lose you his silly seat? . . . Rats! The little bounder compromised himself! He's been doing it freely--doing it since ten o'clock--two crowded hours of glorious life . . . 'stonishing, Otty, what a variegated ass a man can make of himself nowadays in two short hours, with the help of a taxi and if he wastes no time. When I think of our simple grandfathers playing at Bloods, wrenching off door-knockers. . . . Oh, yes--but you're waiting for the story. Well, it happened like this,-- "Farrell called on you this morning, soon after breakfast-time, and found me breakfasting. He was in something of a perspiration. It appeared that he'd fired off a letter to the _Times_ directed against our dear Professor; and, having fired it, had learnt from somebody that the Professor was a close friend of ours. He had come around to make the peace with you, if he could--he's a funny little snob. But you had flown." "I had gone off," said I, "to catch Jack Foe and warn him that the letter was dangerous."