with a loud and hasty summons. The second repetition of the noise
produced the sentence, uttered in a very trembling voice, of "Who's
there?"

"It is I, Clarence Linden," replied our hero; "lose no time in opening
the door."

This answer seemed to reassure the valorous stock-jobber. He slowly
undid the bolt, and turned the key.

"In Heaven's name, what do you want, Mr. Linden?" said he.

"Ay," cried a sharp voice from the more internal recesses of the
chamber, "what do you want, sir, disturbing us in the bosom of our
family and at the dead of night?"

With a rapid voice, Clarence repeated what he had seen, and requested
the broker to accompany him to Talbot's house, or at least to lend him
his pistols.

"He shall do no such thing," cried Mrs. Copperas. "Come here, Mr. C.,
and shut the door directly."

"Stop, my love," said the stock-jobber, "stop a moment."

"For God's sake," cried Clarence, "make no delay; the poor old man may
be murdered by this time."

"It's no business of mine," said the stock-jobber. "If Adolphus had
not broken the rattle I would not have minded the trouble of springing