there anythin' substantial?" he
asked pitifully.

"Not just now," said Nickie, "but last night I watched the Chow and his
missus dining on roast duck. You notice there's a door in this partition
just at the back of my cage. Curious, is it not? Well, I found an old
rusty key in the crack under the wall, and it fits the lock of that door.
Remarkable that, don't you think? Now, I shan't be surprised if some of
those Chow delicacies find their way in here most unaccountably."

"What's it t' me if they do?" sighed Matty. "I wouldn't dare t' eat 'em.
If I did the boss would find I was puttin' on flesh, an' I'd be doin' a
bunk."

"But I suppose a drop of Chinese brandy wouldn't entirely spoil your
figure, my boy."

The Chinese delicacies did find their way into the cage of the Missing
Link, quite a fine assortment of them, also the bottle of Celestial
spirits. Ammonia witnessed the process of transference that night, and
nearly went mad in his cage, springing about wildly, clinging to the
bars, squealing and certainly blaspheming in his peculiar monkey
gibberish, and Nicholas Crips sat in his cage, impishly eager to goad his
enemy to fury, and ate luscious figs and fine preserves, while the
gorilla strained at the intervening bars and shrilled his anguish.

After this there were other casual visits to the shop of Kit See, and
Ammonia's curiosity concerning the mysterious place from which the
Missing Link drew such delectable supplies kept him at the back of his
cage for hours together, peering at the wall, scratching it, and whining
impotently.

Evidently Kit See was troubled in his mind, too, for he came into the
show to examine the door in the wall, and finding the cage of the Missing
Link right up against it, and the formidable monster sleeping in the
straw, was satisfied that the petty larcenist found access to his goods
in some other way.

On the Sunday, Nickie and the Living Skeleton walked abroad, seeing the
sights of Wangaroo, including a waterfall; a hanging rock, and a
cemetery, the latter the favourite resort of the elite and fashion of
Wangaroo on Sundays. Mat's skeleton proportions were disguised in a long
overcoat, and Nickie wore a loud theatrical suit, and a conspicuous
clean-shave. He thought he looked like Henry Irving. He didn't see why he
shouldn't.

The company ate a late dinner in a room behind the show that evening.
Amiable Madame Marve had prepared an excellent meal, in which the
regulation b