thrilled through him.

There, on the great old high-backed carved oak chair beside the
fireplace sat the same enormous rat, steadily glaring at him with
baleful eyes.

Instinctively he took the nearest thing to his hand, a book of
logarithms, and flung it at it. The book was badly aimed and the rat did
not stir, so again the poker performance of the previous night was
repeated; and again the rat, being closely pursued, fled up the rope of
the alarm bell. Strangely too, the departure of this rat was instantly
followed by the renewal of the noise made by the general rat community.
On this occasion, as on the previous one, Malcolmson could not see at
what part of the room the rat disappeared, for the green shade of his
lamp left the upper part of the room in darkness, and the fire had
burned low.

On looking at his watch he found it was close on midnight; and, not
sorry for the _divertissement_, he made up his fire and made himself his
nightly pot of tea. He had got through a good spell of work, and thought
himself entitled to a cigarette; and so he sat on the great oak chair
before the fire and enjoyed it. Whilst smoking he began to think that he
would like to know where the rat disappeared to, for he had certain
ideas for the morrow not entirely disconnected with a rat-trap.
Accordingly he lit another lamp and placed it so that it would shine
well into the right-hand corner of the wall by the fireplace. Then he
got all the books he had with him, and placed them handy to throw at the
vermin. Finally he lifted the rope of the alarm bell and placed the end
of it on the table, fixing the extreme end under the lamp. As he handled
it he could not help noticing how pliable it was, especially for so