are that Mr. Longhurst was the principal, and Jim but a
speaking-trumpet. But now that the Olympian Jupiter was gone, Mr. Borden
thought proper to affect severity.

"Come, come, Mr. Pinkerton; any advance?" he snapped.

And Pinkerton, resolved on the big bluff, replied, "Two thousand
dollars."

Bellairs preserved his composure. "And fifty," said he. But there was a
stir among the onlookers, and--what was of more importance--Captain
Trent had turned pale and visibly gulped.

"Pitch it in again, Jim," said I. "Trent is weakening."

"Three thousand," said Jim.

"And fifty," said Bellairs.

And then the bidding returned to its original movement by hundreds and
fifties; but I had been able in the meanwhile to draw two conclusions.
In the first place, Bellairs had made his last advance with a smile of
gratified vanity, and I could see the creature was glorying in the
_kudos_ of an unusual position and secure of ultimate success. In the
second, Trent had once more changed colour at the thousand leap, and his
relief when he heard the answering fifty was manifest and unaffected.
Here, then, was a problem: both were presumably in the same interest,
yet the one was not in the confidence of the other. Nor was this all. A
few bids later it chanced that my eye encountered that of Captain Trent,
and his, which glittered with excitement, was instantly, and I thought
guiltily, withdrawn. He wished, then, to conceal his interest? As Jim
had said, there was some blamed thing going on. And for certain here
were these two men, so strangely united, so strangely divided, both
sharp-set to keep the wreck from us, and that at an exorbitant figure.

Was the wreck worth more than we supposed? A sudden heat was kindled in
my brain; the bids were nearing Longhurst's limit of five thousand;
another minute and all would be too late. Tearing a leaf from my
sketch-book, and inspired (I suppose) by vanity in my own powers of
inference and observation, I took the one mad decision of my life. "If
you care to go ahead," I wrote, "I'm in for all I'm worth."

Jim read and looked round at me like one bewildered; then his eyes
lightened, and turning again to the auctioneer he bid, "Five thousand
one hundred dollars."

"And fifty," said monotonous Bellairs.

Presently Pinkerton scribbled, "What can it be?" and I answered, still
on paper: "I can't imagine, but there's something. Watch Bellairs; he'll
go up to the ten thousand, see if he don't."

A