But the Jinnee, who had now swelled to gigantic proportions, and whose form and features were only dimly recognisable through the wreaths of black vapour in which he was involved, answered him from his pillar of smoke in a terrible voice. "Wouldst thou still persuade me to linger?" he cried. "Hold thy peace and be ready to fulfil thine undertaking." "But, look here," persisted Horace. "I should feel such a brute if I sealed you up without telling you----" The whirling and roaring column, in shape like an inverted cone, was being fast sucked down into the vessel, till only a semi-materialised but highly infuriated head was left above the neck of the bottle. "Must I tarry," it cried, "till the Lord Mayor arrive with his Memlooks, and the hour of safety is expired? By my head, if thou delayest another instant, I will put no more faith in thee! And I will come forth once more, and afflict thee and thy friends--ay, and all the dwellers in this accursed city--with the most painful and unheard-of calamities." And, with these words, the head sank into the bottle with a loud clap resembling thunder. Horace hesitated no longer. The Jinnee himself had absolved him from all further scruples; to imperil Sylvia and her parents--not to mention all London--out of consideration for one obstinate and obnoxious old demon, would clearly be carrying sentiment much too far. Accordingly, he made a rush for the jar and slipped the metal cover over the mouth of the neck, which was so hot that it blistered his fingers, and, seizing the poker, he hammered down the secret catch until the lid fitted as closely as Suleyman himself could have required. Then he stuffed the bottle into a kit-bag, adding a few coals to give it extra weight, and toiled off with it to the nearest steamboat pier, where he spent his remaining pence in purchasing a ticket to the Temple. * * * * * Next day the following paragraph appeared in one of the evening papers, which probably had more space than usual at its disposal: "SINGULAR OCCURRENCE ON A PENNY STEAMER