"Shall I?"

"Yes, rather!"

These two whispered sentences I heard from behind me. Inquisitively
I turned round to see what simmered there.

"Keep working, you fool!" hissed my neighbour.

Events of some moment were happening in the rear. It had occurred to
several that the hands of the clock might be encouraged with a
slight push to hasten their journey over the next few minutes. Doe,
half anxious to be the daring one to do it, half nervous of the
consequences, had whispered: "Shall I?" And his advisers had
answered: "Yes, rather!" He threw down a piece of blotting paper,
and tip-toed towards it, as though to pick it up. Seeing with a
side-glance that Mr. Cæsar's back was still turned, he mounted a
form, and pushed on the clock's hands. Then, hurriedly getting
down, he flew back nervously to his seat, where he pretended to be
rapidly writing.

Hearing these slithy and suggestive movements, I declined to remain
any longer ignorant of their meaning. After all, I had suggested the
"whole bally business," and was entitled to know the means selected
for its conduct. So round went my inquisitive head. Then I shook in
my glee. Someone had pushed on the hands of the clock, and it was
three minutes to twelve. There was a rustle of excitement in the
room. The silence of expectancy followed. "Two-minutes-to" narrowed
into "One-minute-to"; and after a premonitory click, which produced