side of his friends and ignore the worst; if, indeed, he perceived their
faults at all. It was plain to me, even now, that he did not comprehend
the Celebrity's attitude. That his guest should reject the one hope of
escape left him was, according to Mr. Cooke, only to be accounted for by
a loss of mental balance. Nevertheless, his disappointment was keen. He
let down the door and slowly led the way out of the cabin. The whistle
sounded shrilly in our ears.

Mr. Cooke sat down and drew a wallet from his pocket. He began to count
the bills, and, as if by common consent, the Four followed suit. It was
a task which occupied some minutes, and when completed my client produced
a morocco note-book and a pencil. He glanced interrogatively at the man
nearest him.

"Three hundred and fifty."

Mr. Cooke put it down. It was entirely a matter of course. What else
was there to be done? And when he had gone the round of his followers he
turned to Farrar and me.

"How much are you fellows equal to?" he asked.

I believe he did it because he felt we should resent being left out: and
so we should have. Mr. Cooke's instincts were delicate.

We told him. Then he paused, his pencil in the air, and his eyes
doubtfully fixed on the senator. For all this time Mr. Trevor had been
fidgeting in his seat; but now he opened his long coat, button by button,
and thrust his hand inside the flap. Oh, Falstaff!