"Why, yes, I believe it was."

"Um-m. Suppose, now, Linder should drop out of the combination.
Who would be the most likely nominee?"

"Marsden--the man I've been grooming for the place. A first-class,
honorable, fearless man."

"Well, it's only a chance; but if I can get one dark point cleared
up--"

He paused as a curious, tingling note came from the platform where
the musicians were tuning tip.

"One of Bellerding's sweet dulcets," observed Bertram.

The Performer nearest them was running a slow bass scale on a sort
of two-stringed horse-fiddle of a strange shape. Average Jones'
still untouched glass, almost full of the precious port, trembled
and sang a little tentative response. Up-up-up mounted the
thrilling notes, in crescendo force.

"What a racking sort of tone, for all its sweetness!" said Average
Jones. His delicate and fragile port glass evidently shared the
opinion, for, without further warning, it split and shivered.

"They used to show that experiment in the laboratory," said Bertram.
"You must have had just the accurate amount of liquid in the glass,
Average. Move back, you lunatic, it's dripping all over you."