At his door suddenly appeared the Triumphant Egghead and Goat Phillips, whose title at this time had been conveyed solely for the butting manner of his attack. Each had likewise reached that stage of dishabille where there is little more to shed. "Hello, old Sockbutts," said Egghead, genially. "Hello yourself," returned Smith, non-committally. "We're going up on the roof," continued the Egghead. "Anyone up yet?" "Not yet." "It's as hot as blazes," said the Goat. "Better come along." "I ought to finish this Cicero," said Smith, wondering if he could leave his hero in a sack, ready to be plunged into the dizzy waters below. "Oh, come on," said the Egghead; "I'll give you that when we come down. Have you any matches? I've got the coffin nails." A slight shower had ended a few minutes before without bringing relief from the heat. "Are you coming?" said the Egghead, already out of the window. "Don't be a grind, Smithy." "Sure, I'm with you," replied Smith, thus forced to repel the insinuation. The Goat had gone first, then the Egghead, with Smith bringing up the rear. "Look out, fellows," whispered the pilot, lost in the darkness ahead. "It's slippery as the deuce!" The way led up a gutter to the peak of one slope, down that, up another and over to a cranny which formed about the back chimneys. The still moist tiles were, in fact, slippery and treacherous, and their movements were made with calculation and solicitude. Smith, arriving the last at the top of the first peak, waited until the Egghead had descended and climbed in safety to the next ridge, glanced down the twenty feet of slippery slate, and, tempted, called out: "Look out, fellows, I'm going to slide!" The Goat and the Egghead, in unison, cried to him to desist, for the second ridge which ended the slope of the first had a downward inclination towards the edge of the roof that made it exceedingly dangerous. Just how it happened has never been satisfactorily settled: whether Smith actually intended to slide or whether he lost his grip and started unwillingly. However it may be, Egghead and the Goat, astride the second ridge, were suddenly horrified to see Smith's naked body shoot down the slope, strike the moist incline at the bottom, and, bounding down that, with increased velocity disappear over the roof. They heard one thud and then another in the gravel path, three stories below. The two clung to each other with a dreadful sinking feeling. "He's dead," said the Goat, solemnly. "Poor old Smith is dead." "Squashed like a bug," said the Egghead. "We won't even recognise his remains." "Egghead, it's all our fault--all our fault." "Shut up, Goat, and don't blubber." "I'm not." "You are--for Heaven's sake, brace up! We've got to get down to him!" They started fearfully over the treacherous return, reaching Smith's room thoroughly unnerved. Then they began to run down the stairs, calling out: "Smithy's dead!" "Smithy's fallen off the roof!"