So yesterday, after the satisfactory settlement of another puzzling question, I made up my mind to trap him--which I did after this manner.

He has, as most men have, in fact, a great love for the Curator.

In discussing with him the mysterious fetching up of the bow and its subsequent concealment in the Curator's office, I remarked, with a smile I did not mean to have him take as real, that only the Curator himself would do such a thing and then forget it; that it must have been his shadow he saw; and I begged him, in a way half jocose, half earnest, to say so and have done with it.
"It worked, sir.

He flushed like a man who had been struck; then he grew white with indignation and blurted forth that it was no more his shadow than it was Mr.Roberts'-- that indeed it was much more like Mr.Roberts' than the Curator's.

At which I simply remarked: 'You think so, Correy ?' To which he replied: 'I do not think anything.