rt, which
combined with the immediateness of our peril to fill my eye with tears.
After all, I thought--and perhaps the thought was laughably vain--we
were here three very noble human beings to perish in defence of a
thieving banker.

Before we sat down to table I looked forth from an upstairs window. The
day was beginning to decline; the links were utterly deserted; the
despatch-box still lay untouched where we had left it hours before.

Mr. Huddlestone, in a long yellow dressing-gown, took one end of the
table, Clara the other; while Northmour and I faced each other from the
sides. The lamp was brightly trimmed; the wine was good; the viands,
although mostly cold, excellent of their sort. We seemed to have agreed
tacitly; all reference to the impending catastrophe was carefully
avoided; and, considering our tragic circumstances, we made a merrier
party than could have been expected. From time to time, it is true,
Northmour or I would rise from table and make a round of the defences;
and, on each of these occasions, Mr. Huddlestone was recalled to a sense
of his tragic predicament, glanced up with ghastly eyes, and bore for an
instant on his countenance the stamp of terror. But he hastened to empty
his glass, wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, and joined again in
the conversation.

I was astonished at the wit and information he displayed. Mr.
Huddlestone's was certainly no ordinary character; he had read and
observed for himself; his gifts were sound; and, though I could never
have learned to love the man, I began to understand his success in
business, and the great respect in which he had been held before his
failure. He had, above all, the talent of society; and though I never
heard him speak but on this one and most unfavourable occasion, I set
him down among the most brilliant conversationalists I ever met.

He was relating with great gusto, and seemingly no feeling of shame, the
manoeuvres of a scoundrelly commission merchant whom he had known and
studied in his youth, and we were all listening with an odd mixture of
mirth and embarrassment, when our little party was brought abruptly to
an end in the most startling manner.

A noise like that of a wet finger on the window-pane interrupted Mr.
Huddlestone's tale; and in an instant we were all four as white as
paper, and sat tongue-tied and motionless round the table.

"A snail," I said at last; for I had heard that these animals make a
noise somewhat s