"I see how it is," he cried. "You have entrapped me, ruffians. It's all a trick. You mean to murder me. But I'll sell my life dearly. The first who approaches shall have his brains blown out." And as he spoke, he levelled a pistol at the Tinker's head. "Holloa! wot are you arter, sir?" cried that individual, sheltering his head with his hands. "You're a-labourin' under a mistake--a complete mistake. If it is a trap, ve're catched in it as vell as yourself." "To be sure ve is," added the Sandman. "Sit down, and vait a bit. I dessay Mr. Reeks'll come back, and it von't do no good gettin' into a passion." "Well, well, I must resign myself, I suppose," groaned Thorneycroft, sinking into a chair. "It's a terrible situation to be placed in--shut up in a haunted house." "I've been in many much vurser sitivations," observed Ginger, "and I alvays found the best vay to get out on 'em wos to take things quietly." "Besides, there's no help for it," said the Tinker, seating himself. "That remains to be seen," observed the Sandman, taking the chair opposite Thorneycroft. "If Reeks don't come back soon, I'll bust open the door." "Plenty o' time for that," said Ginger, sauntering towards the table on which the provisions were spread; "wot do you say to a mouthful o' wittles?" "I wouldn't touch 'em for the world," replied the Sandman. "Nor I," added the Tinker; "they may be pisoned." "Pisoned--nonsense!" cried Ginger; "don't you see some von has been a-takin' his supper here? I'll jist finish it for him." "Vith all my 'art," said the Tinker. "Don't touch it on any account," cried Mr. Thorneycroft. "I agree with your companions, it may be poisoned." "Oh! I ain't afeerd," cried Ginger, helping himself to a dish before him. "As good a pigeon-pie as ever I tasted. Your health, Mr. Thorneycroft," he added, filling a goblet from one of the bottles. "My service to you, gents. Famous tipple, by Jove!" drawing a long breath after the draught, and smacking his lips with amazing satisfaction. "Never tasted sich a glass o' wine in all my born days," he continued, replenishing the goblet: "I wonder wot it's called?" "Prussic acid," replied Mr. Thorneycroft gruffly. "Proossic fiddlestick!" cried Ginger; "more likely Tokay. I shall finish the bottle, and never be the vorse for it!" "He's gettin' svipy," said the Tinker. "I vonder vether it's really Tokay?" "No such thing," cried Thorneycroft; "let him alone." "I must taste it," said the Tinker, unable to resist the temptation. "Here, give us a glass, Ginger!" "Vith pleasure," replied Ginger, filling a goblet to the brim, and handing it to him. "You'd better be perwailed upon, Sandy." "Vell, I s'pose I must," replied the Sandman, taking the goblet proffered him. "Here's the beaks' healths!" cried Ginger. "I gives that toast 'cos they're alvays so kind to us dog-fanciers."