"Some people are too mean to live," returned Baxter, savagely. "Come, shove over that decanter, and let's pitch in. Fingers, gents, 'cause there ain't nothin' but silver knives and forks in this house, unless I take 'em out of the bag, which I ain't doin'. Here's luck!" "Excellent claret, Wilson," said the young burglar, holding his glass up to the light. "Genuine Medoc," returned Graham, with the air of a connoisseur. "That's the worst of this business; not one gentleman out of ten is a judge of wine. Now, the whiskey----" "The whiskey's all right," interrupted Baxter, curtly. "All whiskey's good; some's better'n others, but it's all good. Blow claret!" "No style about Jim," said Harry, with a smile that was half a sneer. "No, you bet there ain't," said Baxter, stolidly. "You oughter call me 'Old Business,' 'cause that's what I am. Pass them pickles." It was a most interesting sight. At the head of the table sat Graham, a smooth-faced, well-fed man of forty, who might have passed for a prosperous banker, or a man living on an annuity; to his right reclined, rather than sat, young Montgomery, a spruce and slender fellow, with soft blue eyes, tremulous lips, and light hair neatly brushed; while opposite Graham sat Baxter, a coarse, shaggy, grimy man of uncertain age, with small, shifty eyes, a heavy beard, and a general air of brutal strength. Had it not been for the fact that each man wore his hat, and that the bag of stolen goods lay on one corner of the table, it might have been taken for a small stag party, Graham personating the host to perfection. The resemblance was lost, however, a moment later. The door leading to the back stairway, directly behind Jim Baxter, opened and revealed a spare man with long blonde whiskers, wearing gold eye-glasses, and a flowered dressing-gown. Graham was the first to see the intruder, and his exclamation of astonishment caused Baxter to turn his head. In an instant that worthy was on his feet, with a pistol in his hand. Graham was quicker, however, and before his companion could raise the weapon he seized his arm and pushed him aside. "No violence, Jim," he said, sternly. "I warn't goin' to shoot," growled Jim. "I was only goin' to give him a crack on the head." "I won't have it," returned Graham, authoritatively. "Sit down." Baxter put up his pistol and sat down. Graham then turned to the spare gentleman, who had not moved from the doorway during this episode. "Mr. Braithwait, I presume?" "That is my name," was the composed reply. "Burglars, I presume?" "The presumption is correct. Will you take a seat?" Mr. Braithwait sat down opposite young Montgomery, to whom he bowed gravely. There was then a moment of silence, broken by Graham, who had resumed his place at the head of the table. "I am sorry," said he, "you have made your appearance, as we can't very well apologize for our intrusion."