"Then, I suppose," snorted Trevor, "you'd suggest that on the strength
of this letter I'd better leave Barry out of the team?"

"Satirically in brackets," commented Clowes.

"It's no good your jumping on _me_," he added. "I've done nothing.
All I suggest is that you'd better keep more or less of a look-out. If
this League's anything like the old one, you'll find they've all sorts
of ways of getting at people they don't love. I shouldn't like to come
down for a bath some morning, and find you already in possession, tied
up like Robinson. When they found Robinson, he was quite blue both as
to the face and speech. He didn't speak very clearly, but what one
could catch was well worth hearing. I should advise you to sleep with a
loaded revolver under your pillow."

"The first thing I shall do is find out who wrote this letter."

"I should," said Clowes, encouragingly. "Keep moving."

In Seymour's house the Mill's study incident formed the only theme of
conversation that morning. Previously the sudden elevation to the first
fifteen of Barry, who was popular in the house, at the expense of
Rand-Brown, who was unpopular, had given Seymour's something to talk
about. But the ragging of the study put this topic entirely in the shade.
The study was still on view in almost its original condition of disorder,
and all day comparative strangers flocked to see Mill in his den, in
order to inspect things. Mill was a youth with few friends, and it is
probable that more of his fellow-Seymourites crossed the threshold of
his study on the day after the occurrence than had visited him in the