Arrived before the dark and awesome, ivy-hidden portals of the Head Master's dread abode, Mr. Tapping carefully deposited the unspeakable mess against the stone steps, stationed the rebellious Skippy under an opposite tree and entered, in a fever of excitement. "Great heavens!" said the Doctor, starting from his chair. "Are you ill?" "No, sir, it's not myself. That is, it's--it's the whole house; it's young Bedelle, sir. The fact is, Doctor, the situation was so serious that I--I thought I'd best come to you directly, sir." "Try to give the details a little more calmly and coherently, Mr. Tapping," said the Doctor, retreating behind a handkerchief and studying the young assistant with a growing suspicion. He indicated his guest and added, "Professor Rootmeyer of Princeton--Mr. Tapping, one of our younger masters." Ten minutes later Skippy, shivering under the apple tree, beheld Tabby reappear, take up the tongs gingerly and return to the house. Almost immediately the window of the Doctor's study opened with a bang and there was an iron clank in the near roadway. "I never smelled such a smell! Is it possible?" said the Doctor, coughing. "What is it?" "Please, sir, I don't know," said Mr. Tapping miserably. "You don't know and you are a B. S.?" "I haven't the faintest idea." "Well, what is your explanation, or have you any explanation of this extraordinary occurrence?" "I think, sir, the boy is completely unbalanced." "Bedelle! He's always been steady and well conducted." "He's been acting queerly lately, sir, and he absolutely refuses to give any explanation. The house, sir, is quite untenantable. I--I don't think the boys can sleep there to-night." "Where is Bedelle now?" "He is outside, sir--waiting." "Perhaps I had better examine into this myself," said the Doctor, frowning. "Bedelle is a good boy--a bit of a dreamer, but a good, reliable boy. Mr. Tapping, you may return to the Kennedy and quiet them. I shall be over later. Keep Bedelle waiting--outside." "Jim," said Professor Rootmeyer, the distinguished chemist, "there are only two things in God's universe can produce a smell like that--a dead Indian and butyl mercaptan." The Doctor immediately discarded the first hypothesis. "Frank, you've hit it. It _is_ butyl mercaptan," he said, laughing. "Well, how did you know?" "I remember once when I was a shaver--" "Go on," said Professor Rootmeyer as the Doctor came to a hurried stop. "H'm, we are living in the present," said the Doctor after a second thought. He rose and went to the doorstep. "Bedelle!" "Yes, sir." The stench began to swell with the hurried approach. "Stop there," said the Doctor hastily, and, having had his imagination sharpened by frequent contact with the genus boy, he added with sudden inspiration: "Go round to my study window. I will speak to you from inside." A moment later Skippy's white face appeared, framed against the night.