He was a fair man of uncertain age, but could not be more than twenty-eight.  He wore his flaxen hair rather long and ill-kempt; his face might have been handsome, but the flesh was white and flaccid; the features, though regular, devoid of character; the blue eyes had so little expression that a professed physiognomist would have found difficulty in ‘placing’ their possessor.  His black clothes were shiny with age; his gait was shuffling and awkward.

’My name, though it will not convey very much to you, is Frank Carrel.  I am a scholar, an archaeologist, a palaeographer, and—­other things besides.’

‘A beggar and a British Museum reader,’ was the mental observation of the Professor.  The other seemed to read his thoughts.

‘You think I want pecuniary assistance; well, I do.’

’I fear you have come to the wrong person, at the wrong time, and if I may say so, in the wrong way.  I do not like to be disturbed at this hour.  Will you kindly leave me this instant?’

Carrel’s manner changed and became more deferential.

’If you will allow me to show you something on which I want your opinion, something I can leave with you, I will go away at once and come back to-morrow at any time you name.’

‘Very well,’ said the Professor, wearily, ready to compromise the matter for the moment.

From a small bag he was carrying Carrel produced a roll of papyrus.  The Professor’s eyes gleamed; he held out his hands greedily to receive it, fixing a searching, suspicious glance on Carrel.

‘Where did you get this, may I ask?’

‘I want your opinion first, and then I will tell you.’

The Professor moved towards the lamp, replaced the cardboard green shade, sat down, and with a strong magnifying-glass examined the papyrus with evident interest.  Carrel, appreciating the interest he was exciting, talked on in rapid jerky sentences.

’Yes.  I think you will be able to help me.  I am sure you will do so.  Like yourself, I am a scholar, and might have occupied a position in Europe similar to your own.’

The Professor smiled grimly, but did not look up from the table as Carrel continued: 

’Mine has been a strange career.  I was educated abroad.  I became a scholar at Cambridge.  There was no prize I did not carry off.  I knew more Greek than both Universities put together.  Then I was cursed not only with inclination for vices, but with capacity and courage to practise them—­liquor, extravagance, gambling—­amusements for rich people; but I was poor.’

‘It is a very sad and a very common story,’ said the Professor sententiously, but without looking up from the table.  ’I myself was an Oxford man.  Your name is quite unfamiliar to me.’

’I fancy if you asked them at Cambridge they would certainly remember me.’

‘I shall make a point of doing so,’ said the professor drily.  He affected to be giving only partial attention to the narrative; but though he seemed to be sedulous in his examination of the papyrus, he was listening intently.