"You have need to be, I fear," said Sir Elkin, speaking slowly. "I was going back to him at this moment. Will you come with me. . . . This, by the way, is Mr. Michelmore, our College Bursar." "With your leave, gentleman," put in the Sergeant, "I'll be going back now. They've collared most of the ringleaders; but by the sound of it they're beating the shrubberies for the stray birds . . ." "Certainly, Sergeant--certainly. . . . Your men have been most prompt." Sir Elkin dismissed him, and again bent his attention on us. "You are all friends of the Professor's?" he asked. "Two of us," said I. "This third is Mr. Farrell, who has come to express his sincere regret." The Principal's eyes, which had been softening, hardened again suddenly with anger and suspicion. What must that ass Farrell do but hold out his hand effusively? "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir Elkin," he began. "Assure you--innocent--slightest intention-- quite without my approval--outrage--deplorable--last thing in the world--" He stammered, wagging a hand at vacancy; for the hand it reached to grasp had swiftly withdrawn itself behind Sir Elkin's back, and remained there. "We will discuss your innocence later on, sir. Be very sure you will be given occasion to establish it, if you can." Sir Elkin's glare, under his iron-grey eyebrows, promised No Quarter. "Since you have pushed your way in with these gentlemen, it may interest you to follow us and see the results of your ignorant incitement." He shook Farrell off--as it were--with a hunching movement of the shoulder, and turned to me. "Come, sir," he said, courteously enough. "I warn you it is a tragedy." "But my friend is unhurt?" I asked anxiously. "The Sergeant told me--" "Doctor Foe had left the building--whether fortunately or unfortunately you shall judge--half an hour before the mob arrived. Saturday is, for lecturing, a _dies non_ with him, though he often spends the whole day here at his work." Sir Elkin paused. "By the way, did I catch your name aright, just now? You are Sir Roderick Otway? . . . Then I ought to have thanked you, before this. It was you who sent me a message yesterday. Foe himself made light of it--" "I wish I had come with him," said I, with something like a groan. "I wish to Heaven you had," he agreed very seriously. "For I have a confession to make. . . . I was a fool. I contented myself with warning a few of the teaching staff to be on their guard, and with setting an extra round of night-watchers. But I neglected to see to it that Foe removed his papers to the College strong-room. I did suggest it; but when he pointed out that it would involve an afternoon's work at least, and went on to grumble that it would probably cost him a month to re-sort them--that he hated all meddling with his records--" "My God!" I cried. "You don't tell me his records--eight years' close work, as I know--"