“But it isn’t safe to bring a light near the powder.”
“Bosh! How can a light behind glass do any harm? Come closer, I mustn’t leave any powder near the slow match. That’s better; I can see now, and—Ah! take care.”
For all at once the butler fell over him with a crash, the lantern struck against the opposite wall and came open, the lamp portion falling out and firing some of the scattered powder, while at the same moment the lobby door was banged to, shut, and they heard the shooting of the lock.
Chapter Twenty Five.
The Collector Wakes Up.
Professor Westcott, next door, had another consignment that morning. The London and North Western Railway Company’s men called with their van and a way-bill to deliver two chests from Birmingham, weighing over two hundredweight each, both strongly screwed up and roped, and a smaller line round them, carefully-sealed:—“Books; with great care. To be kept dry.”
There were two men with the van, and a boy, the former making very light of the heavy chests as they lifted them off the tail-board of the vehicle, while the professor stood blinking on the steps in his big spectacles, his grey hair hanging down long from beneath a black velvet skull-cap, and his rusty dressing-gown, tied on anyhow, reaching nearly to his heels.
“Rum old owl, Joe,” said one of the men. “This makes six chesties I’ve delivered since Christmas.”