Andrew P. Hay was possessed of remarkable aptitude, and, as the £1,000 so fraudulently acquired by Bowes was fast running out, it became necessary to cast about for employment. Now, his knowledge of the archaic Greek tongue, history, and antiquities, gained from direct tradition, was considerable; and he wrote to the authorities of the British Museum, the Society of Antiquaries, the Kernoozers' Club, and various other learned bodies, offering himself as correspondent and referee at a reasonable salary. After some correspondence his services were eagerly accepted; and for a time all worked well. Dr. Schliemann considered him invaluable, and much light was thrown upon the question of early Greek inscriptions, and the true site of Troy, and of the Garden of the Hesperides; while much interesting tittle-tattle, from authentic sources, added to the knowledge of the private character and daily life of Ajax, Achilles, the Muses, Hercules, and others. All this had been communicated by letter; but one calamitous day a learned official from the British Museum called, and, before it could be prevented, had penetrated to the presence of Mr. Hay. The meeting was most painful. Mr. Hay, attired in a loose morning coat and white waistcoat, was writing a paper on the differences between the Sapphic and Pindaric harps; while his equine part was fraying out the carpet with its hoofs and flicking away flies with its tail. Mr. Hay made a desperate effort to conceal the equine portion with the tails of his coat, but in vain. The official was deeply shocked and pained. "A--a--ahem! A Centaur, I believe?" he gasped. Prevarication was useless. Andrew P. Hay bowed stiffly, and motioned the visitor to a chair. "I--I must confess that I--er--hardly anticipated this--er ----. I was under the impression that we had been dealing with an ordinary human being if you'll excuse my saying so: but, forgive me--I fear the authorities to whom I am answerable will hardly approve of my obtaining information from a--er--a fabulous monster." "A _what_, sir?" cried A. P. Hay: and he felt that equine part beginning to edge round for a kick, while his ears were lying back close to his head--the only equine idiosyncrasy of his human part; but one which distressed him greatly. He shouted for Bowes to catch hold of his head; he seized the poker and hammered at his flanks; but all in vain--those terrible hind-legs lashed out: and the official of the British Museum was no more. * * * * * It was a terrible affair: everything came out. Poor Mr. Hay was arrested and taken to Bow Street, where he was locked up in the green-yard stables. The horse-part resisted violently, nearly killing three policemen, and attempting to gallop off; while Mr. Hay begged them to throw him and sit on his head, and subsequently apologized most sincerely. The gaoler was very considerate, giving him his choice of oats or the usual fare.