which was placarded "Silence." And silence was. And on a table with
copies of _The Potter's World, The British Australasian, The Iron
Trades Review_, and the _Golfers' Annual_, was a second copy of
the _Signal_, again demanding of Denry in vast letters whether his
skin was troublesome. Evidently the reading-room.

He ascended the stairs and discovered a deserted billiard-room with two
tables. Though he had never played at billiards, he seized a cue, but
when he touched them the balls gave such a resounding click in the hush
of the chamber that he put the cue away instantly. He noticed another
door, curiously opened it, and started back at the sight of a small
room, and eight middle-aged men, mostly hatted, playing cards in two
groups. They had the air of conspirators, but they were merely some of
the finest solo-whist players in Bursley. (This was before bridge had
quitted Pall Mall.) Among them was Mr Duncalf. Denry shut the door
quickly. He felt like a wanderer in an enchanted castle who had suddenly
come across something that ought not to be come across. He returned to
earth, and in the hall met a man in shirt-sleeves--the Secretary and
Steward, a nice, homely man, who said, in the accents of ancient
friendship, though he had never spoken to Denry before: "Is it Mr
Machin? Glad to see you, Mr Machin! Come and have a drink with me, will
you? Give it a name." Saying which, the Secretary and Steward went
behind the bar, and Denry imbibed a little whisky and much information.

"Anyhow, I've _been!_" he said to himself, going home.


VI

The next night he made another visit to the club, about ten o'clock. The