Professor had performed his singular gymnastic feat, one in that audience had put two and two together, and had been struck by an inspiration from heaven. And the fine frocks, and the good coats and trousers and the top hats, and the lorgnettes and the single eye-glasses got a sharp second shock at seeing Jimmy, who had so lately arrived, leap with the quick and practised gesture of an athlete to the platform, cut across it like a hare, and disappear in his turn through the curtain and the door beyond.
He was after him! … Down the long corridor which ran along the basement of Galton's, to the side door where professionals entered, tore the Professor. He had reached its end, when, glancing over his shoulder, he saw that face he would not see, and as he passed the door-keeper he shouted in an agonised cry, "Stop him!" and plunged into the street.
The door-keeper was the father of a family, a heavy drinker, and a man of peace. But for all he knew there was a shilling in it somewhere, and he stood up—ah, how unwisely!—to meet the charge of that young Cambridge bone and muscle which was thundering down the passage in pursuit.
