ily against the worn masonry of the balustrade, slight, lithe
and graceful, she was the embodiment of vitality in repose. She stood so
still, but there was a light shining in the brown eyes, that were cast
down and over the parapet, keeping a careful watch for any indication of
Berry's activity, a tell-tale quiver of the sensitive nostrils, an
eagerness hanging on the parted lips, which, with her flushed cheeks,
lent to a striking face an air of freshness and a keen _joie de vivre_
that was exhilarating beyond description.

"I wonder what's happening," said Agatha, nodding down at the gateway.
"Can they get out another way?"

"I'm not sure. There is another gate, but----"

"At last," said a familiar voice. "I wouldn't have missed those stairs
for anything. Think of the fools who've trodden them before." The next
moment Berry, followed by Mr. Lewis, made his appearance. "Why, here are
our little playmates." He advanced beaming. "Don't be shy any longer.
And what a storied retreat you have selected!" He indicated the building
with a sweep of his arm. "You know, originally this was a helter-skelter
lighthouse, but Henry the Eighth lost his mat half-way down the chute,
and had it closed down in revenge. There was a great deal of feeling
about it. Especially on the part of the King. He hunted from a litter
for months."

I addressed myself to Miss Deriot.

"Wonderfully well-informed, isn't he? Scratch the buffoon and you get
the charlatan."

Berry turned to Mr. Lewis.

"Much of my crowded life," he said, "has been devoted to research. I am,
as it were, a crystal fount of knowledge. I beg that you will bathe in
me."

Not knowing exactly what reply to make to this offer, Mr. Lewis laughed
heartily, while Agatha, overcome with emotion, hurriedly turned away and
stared over the roofs of Oxford, shaking with long spasms of laughter.

Stifling a desire to join her, I crossed to Mr. Lewis and engaged him in
reasonable conversation, while Berry seized the opportunity of
indicating to Agatha the main points of the city, accompanying his
gesticulations with a series of inaudible remarks, which, to judge from
their reception, concerned Mr. Lewis more nearly than Oxford, and were
of a grotesque character. I was just leading up to the question of fuel,
when a cry from my brother-in-law interrupted me.

"My hag," he announced, "is below. With a notorious winebibber. Where
are the women police?"

The next moment he had slid an