in a large handkerchief, but by the look of his eyes, which appeared
above, he did not seem pleased. He took in the situation at a glance.
Fires in the house were not rarities. One facetious sportsman had once
made a rule of setting the senior day-room chimney on fire every term.
He had since left (by request), but fires still occurred.

"Is the chimney on fire?"

"Yes, sir," said Drummond.

"Go and find Herbert, and tell him to take some water on to the roof
and throw it down." Herbert was the boot and knife cleaner at
Seymour's.

Barry went. Soon afterwards a splash of water in the grate announced
that the intrepid Herbert was hard at it. Another followed, and
another. Then there was a pause. Mr Seymour thought he would look up to
see if the fire was out. He stooped and peered into the darkness, and,
even as he gazed, splash came the contents of the fourth pail, together
with some soot with which they had formed a travelling acquaintance on
the way down. Mr Seymour staggered back, grimy and dripping. There was
dead silence in the study. Shoeblossom's face might have been seen
working convulsively.

The silence was broken by a hollow, sepulchral voice with a strong
Cockney accent.

"Did yer see any water come down then, sir?" said the voice.

Shoeblossom collapsed into a chair, and began to sob feebly.