Professor Lachsyrma was too well endowed by fortune to grudge his former colleagues their little incomes or inadequate salaries at the Museum. Still, his recent discovery would not only enhance his fame in the learned world and his reputed _flair_ for manuscripts--it would irritate those rivals in England and Germany who, in the more solemn reviews, resisted some of his conclusions, canvassed his facts, and occasionally found glaring errors in his texts. How jealous the discovery would make young Fairleigh, for all his unholy knowledge of Greek vases, his handsome profile, and his predilection for going too frequently into society!--a taste not approved by other officials. How it would anger old Gully! Professor Lachsyrma drank some more tea with further satisfaction. Sappho herself could not have felt more elated on the completion of one of her odes; we know she was poignant and sensitive. Thus for a whole hour he idled with his thoughts--rare occupation for so industrious a man. He was startled from the reverie by a slight knock at his door. 'Come in,' he said coldly. There was a touch of annoyance in his tone. Visitors, frequent enough in the morning, rarely disturbed him in the afternoon. 'To whom have I the--duty of speaking?' He raised his well-preserved spare form to its full height. The long loose alpaca coat, velvet skull- cap, and pointed beard gave him the appearance of an eminent ecclesiastic. The subdued light in the room presented only a dim figure on the threshold, and the piercing eyes of the Professor could only see a blurred white face against the black frame of the open door. A strange voice replied: 'I am sorry to disturb you, Professor Lachsyrma. I shall not detain you for more than--an hour.' 'If you will kindly write and state the nature of your business, I can give you an appointment to-morrow or the day after. At the present moment, you will observe, I am busy. I never see visitors except by appointment.' 'I am sorry to inconvenience you. Necessity compels me to choose my own hours for interviewing any one.' The Professor then suddenly removed the green cardboard shade from the lamp. The discourteous intruder was now visible for his inspection. He was a fair man of uncertain age, but could not be more than twenty- eight. He wore his flaxen hair rather long and ill-kempt; his face might have been handsome, but the flesh was white and flaccid; the features, though regular, devoid of character; the blue eyes had so little expression that a professed physiognomist would have found difficulty in 'placing' their possessor. His black clothes were shiny with age; his gait was shuffling and awkward. 'My name, though it will not convey very much to you, is Frank Carrel. I am a scholar, an archaeologist, a palaeographer, and--other things besides.' 'A beggar and a British Museum reader,' was the mental observation of the Professor. The other seemed to read his thoughts.