a deep red glow. As he looked he started in spite of his _sang froid_.

There on the great high-backed carved oak chair by the right side of the
fireplace sat an enormous rat, steadily glaring at him with baleful
eyes. He made a motion to it as though to hunt it away, but it did not
stir. Then he made the motion of throwing something. Still it did not
stir, but showed its great white teeth angrily, and its cruel eyes shone
in the lamplight with an added vindictiveness.

Malcolmson felt amazed, and seizing the poker from the hearth ran at it
to kill it. Before, however, he could strike it, the rat, with a squeak
that sounded like the concentration of hate, jumped upon the floor, and,
running up the rope of the alarm bell, disappeared in the darkness
beyond the range of the green-shaded lamp. Instantly, strange to say,
the noisy scampering of the rats in the wainscot began again.

By this time Malcolmson's mind was quite off the problem; and as a
shrill cock-crow outside told him of the approach of morning, he went to
bed and to sleep.

He slept so sound that he was not even waked by Mrs. Dempster coming in
to make up his room. It was only when she had tidied up the place and
got his breakfast ready and tapped on the screen which closed in his bed
that he woke. He was a little tired still after his night's hard work,
but a strong cup of tea soon freshened him up and, taking his book, he
went out for his morning walk, bringing with him a few sandwiches lest
he should not care to return till dinner time. He found a quiet walk
between high elms some way outside the town, and here he spent the
greater part of the day studying his Laplace. On his return he looked in
to see Mrs. Witham and to thank her for her kindness. When she saw him