myself. I saw what had happened. The Museum is lit by electric light.
To turn it on one has to shoot the bolt of the door, which, like the
handle, is made of metal. It is on the killing two birds with one stone
principle. You lock yourself in and light yourself up with one
movement. It was plain that the current had gone wrong somehow, run
amock, as it were. Mellish meanwhile, instead of being warned by
Gerard's fate, had followed his example, and tried to turn the handle.
His jump, though quite a creditable effort, fell short of Gerard's by
some six inches. I began to feel as if some sort of round game were
going on. I hoped that they would not want me to take a hand. I also
hoped that the thing would continue for a good while longer. The
success of the piece certainly warranted the prolongation of its run.
But here I was disappointed. The disturbance had attracted another
spectator, Blaize, the science and chemistry master. The matter was
hastily explained to him in all its bearings. There was Bradshaw
entombed within the Museum, with every prospect of death by starvation,
unless he could support life for the next few years on the two stuffed
rats and the case of butterflies. The authorities did not see their way
to adding a human specimen (youth's size) to the treasures in the
Museum, _so_--how was he to be got out?

The scientific mind is equal to every emergency.

'Bradshaw,' shouted Blaize through the keyhole.

'Sir?'

'Are you there?'

I should imagine that Bradshaw was growing tired of this question by