The president followed, shutting the door behind him.
"You have just two minutes," he said.
Andrew could not understand it.
His hat was crushed on to his head, his coat flung at him; he was pushed out at a window, squeezed through a grating and tumbled into a passage.
"What is the matter?" he asked, as the president dragged him down a back street.
The president pointed to the window they had just left.
Half a dozen infuriated men were climbing from it in pursuit. Their faces, drunk with rage, awoke Andrew to a sense of his danger.
"They were drawing lots for you when I left the room," said the president.
"But what have I done?" gasped Andrew.
"They didn't like your thesis. At least, they make that their excuse."