True, as soon as the half-muddled brains of the company took in the fact that the door was open, and a stranger standing on the threshold--which they were not quick to discern owing to the cloud of tobacco-smoke that filled the room--nine-tenths quavered off into silence and gaped at me; that proportion of the company having still the sense to recognise the risk they were running, and to apprehend that judgment had taken them in the act. Two men in particular, older than the rest--the one a fat, infirm fellow with a pallid face and the air of a rich citizen, the other a peevish, red-eyed atomy in a green fur-lined coat--were of this party. They had not, I think, been of the happiest before, seated in the midst of that crew; but now, sinking back in their high-backed chairs, they stared at me as if I carried death in my face. A neighbour of theirs, however, went beyond them; for, with a howl that the Secretary was on them and the officers were below, he kicked over his chair and dashed for a window, pausing only when he had thrown it up. But with all this the recklessness of some was evident: for while I stood, uncertain to whom to speak, one of the more drunken staggered from his seat, and giving a shrill view-halloa that might have been heard in Bedford House, made towards me with a cup in his hand. "Drink!" he cried, with a hiccough as he forced it upon me. "Drink! To the squeezing of the Rotten Orange! Drink, man, or you are no friend of ours, but a snivelling, sneaking, white-faced son of a Dutchman like your master! So drink, and----Eh, what is it? What is the matter?" CHAPTER XIX It was no small thing could enlighten that brain clouded by the fumes of drink and conceit; but the silence, perfect and clothing panic--a silence that had set in with his first word, and a panic that had grown with a whisper passed round the table--came home to him at last. "What is it? What is the matter?" he cried, with a silly drunken laugh. And he turned to look. No one answered; but he saw the sight which I had already seen--his fellows fallen from him, and huddled on the farther side of the table, as sheep huddle from the sheep-dog; some pale, cross-eyed, and with lips drawn back, seeking softly in their cloaks for weapons; others standing irresolute, or leaning against the wall, shaking and unnerved. Cooled, but not sobered by the sight, he turned to me again. "Won't he drink the toast?" he maundered, in an uncertain voice. "Why--why not, I'd like to know. Eh? Why not?" he repeated; and staggered. At that someone in the crowd laughed hysterically; and this breaking the spell, a second found his voice. "Gad! It is not the man!" the latter cried with a rattling oath. "It is all right! I swear it is! Here you, speak, fool!" he went on to me. "What do you here?" "This for Mr. Wilkins," I answered, holding out my note.