watching us, eh? A Gilpin Homer, you are, and some fine day we'll see
you go off in a flash of fire. If you don't poison us all first.--Well,
here's fortune!"

"Your health, Mr. Hackh," amended the other Englishman.

As they set down their glasses, a strange cry sounded from below,--a
stifled call, inarticulate, but in such a key of distress that all four
faced about, and listened intently.

"Kom down," called a hesitating voice, "kom down and look-see."

They sprang to the stairs, and clattered downward. Dim radiance flooded
the landing, from the street door. Outside, a smoky lantern on the
ground revealed the lower levels.

In the wide sector of light stood Wutzler, shrinking and apologetic,
like a man caught in a fault, his wrinkled face eloquent of fear, his
gesture eloquent of excuse. Round him, as round a conjurer, scores of
little shadowy things moved in a huddling dance, fitfully hopping like
sparrows over spilt grain. Where the light fell brightest these became
plainer, their eyes shone in jeweled points of color.

"By Jove, Gilly, they are rats!" said Heywood, in a voice curiously
forced and matter-of-fact. "Flounce killed several this afternoon,
so my--"

No one heeded him; all stared. The rats, like beings of incantation,
stole about with an absence of fear, a disregard of man's presence, that
was odious and alarming.