that Graham's post was no sinecure. It was Harrison's custom to throw
off his mask at night with his other garments, and appear in his true
character of an abandoned villain, willing to stick at nothing as long
as he could do it strictly incog. In this capacity he had come into
constant contact with Graham. Even in the dark it is occasionally
possible for a prefect to tell where a noise comes from. And if the
said prefect has been harassed six days in the week by a noise, and
locates it suddenly on the seventh, it is wont to be bad for the
producer and patentee of same.

And so it came about that Harrison, enjoying himself one night, after
the manner of his kind, was suddenly dropped upon with violence. He had
constructed an ingenious machine, consisting of a biscuit tin, some
pebbles, and some string. He put the pebbles in the tin, tied the
string to it, and placed it under a chest of drawers. Then he took the
other end of the string to bed with him, and settled down to make a
night of it. At first all went well. Repeated inquiries from Tony
failed to produce the author of the disturbance, and when finally the
questions ceased, and the prefect appeared to have given the matter up
as a bad job, P. St H. Harrison began to feel that under certain
circumstances life was worth living. It was while he was in this happy
frame of mind that the string, with which he had just produced a
triumphant rattle from beneath the chest of drawers, was seized, and
the next instant its owner was enjoying the warmest minute of a
chequered career. Tony, like Brer Rabbit, had laid low until he was
certain of the direction from which the sound proceeded. He had then
slipped out of bed, crawled across the floor in a snake-like manner
which would have done credit to a Red Indian, found the tin, and traced
the string to its owner. Harrison emerged from the encounter feeling
sore and unfit for any further recreation. This deed of the night left