In a moment the air of intercourse and joviality that had pervaded the little room was dissipated; in place of it had come shocked surprise and fear. There was an interval of slow desolating silence, and then the convulsive grip of the fair man shattered the glass he held, and the fragments fell tinkling to the floor. "I say, what's up?" stammered the barmaid's admirer, while the barmaid herself shrank back against the shelves and watched nervously. She had had experience. The fair man's head was being pulled slowly backwards by some invisible force. His eyes, staring straight before him, appeared to watch with fierce intensity some point that moved steadily up the wall of shelves behind the counter; up till it reached the ceiling and began to move over the ceiling toward him. Then, quite suddenly, the horrible tension was relaxed; his head fell loosely forward and he clapped both hands to the nape of his neck. He was breathing loudly in short quick gasps. "I say, do you think he's ill?" asked the young man. At the suggestion Dicky made a step towards the sufferer; his knowledge of chemistry gave him a professional air. "He's come from Europe.... Suppose it's the plague," whispered the barmaid. And at that the two young men started back. As the words were spoken realization swept upon them. Mumbling something about "get a doctor," they rushed for the door. One of them made a wide détour--he had to pass the man who sat doubled forward in his chair, frantically gripping the base of his skull. Hardly had the clatter of the swing door subsided before he fell forward on to the floor. He was groaning now, groaning detestably. The barmaid whimpered and stared. "Women don't get it." she said aloud. But she kept to her own side of the counter. Later the owner of the "Dun Taw" identified the fair man--from a distance--as Mr Stewart, of the firm of Barker and Prince. 3 Thrale's "higher forces" had shown their hand. The humble and rotund instrument of their choice had served his purpose, and he was probably the first man in London to receive the news--a delicate acknowledgment, perhaps, of his services. The telegram was addressed to the firm, but as neither of the heads of the house had arrived, Gosling opened it according to precedent. "Gosh!" was his sole exclamation, but the tone of it stirred the interest of Flack, who turned to see his colleague's rather protuberant blue eyes staring with a fishy glare at a flimsy sheet of paper which visibly trembled in the hold of two clusters of fat fingers. Flack lifted his spectacles and holding them on a level with his eyebrows, said, "Bad news?"