Horace North had often used a pestle in peace; he now used it in war, for his fingers closed upon the wooden handle, the heavy weapon described the arc of a circle, there was a sounding rap, half an oath-- barely that--and the big ruffian fell all in a heap upon the floor. For a few moments Horace North felt dazed, but the fighting instinct of the man was now roused, and as a couple of the leader's friends came at him to avenge their comrade's fall, one uttered a yell as the pestle was dashed in his face, and the other a howl as it came down with a crack upon his collarbone, both being rendered _hors de combat_, while the doctor now bestrode the prostrate body of the old surgeon, and kept the rest at bay. Just at this time there was a burst of cheering, for the students were warming to the fray and fighting shoulder to shoulder. The mob, disheartened by their leader's fall, began to give way. The atmosphere of the lecture-hall was evidently too warm, and their retrograde movement rapidly became a rout, in which they were swept bodily out of the place by door and window, too much governed by the laws of self-preservation to think even of those who were down. Then, as the last scoundrel was driven out, and a tremendous cheer arose from the victors, a strong body of police marched into the hall, well buttoned up and beautifully cool, to find that the work was done--all save that of marching off half-a-dozen dizzy, unwashed savages to the cooling cell. "Better, sir?" "Eh? Better? Yes--a little contused. Water! Thank you. Yes; better now. Rather rough proceedings." The old man looked round rather piteously, till his eyes lighted upon the young doctor. "Ah! you, Mr North. I remember now. Thank you. Would you mind helping me to my carriage? I'm rather giddy." The task was done: the old man being helped to the hospital, and through it to a private entrance, where his carriage was in attendance, away from the crowd. "That's right. Come home with me, Mr North. I should like a few words with you, if you would not mind." Horace North gladly entered the carriage, for he thought the old man not fit to go alone, and in the excitement at the hospital no one paid him the slightest attention. "Now come to my room," said the old man, as they were set down at his residence in Harley Street. "Hurt? Oh, no!--a trifle. I want to talk to you about your plans. We'll have a cup of coffee, a cigar, and a chat." That chat in the great surgeon's study lasted till daybreak, and then Horace North walked back to his hotel with his brain on fire. For, with his ideas to a certain extent endorsed by the great authority he had just quitted, he saw himself on the eve of a grand discovery, one which should immortalise his name and benefit his fellow-creatures to a vast extent.