The clerk was in love with a girl who lived with her mother in a pretty little semi-detached villa at Weybridge. He thought of her; he thought of all the evenings he had spent with her; he conjured her up in all her different dresses; he heard her voice in all its tones--and all this in the fraction of a second. Then he put down the boxes and discreetly betook himself to the corner indicated by Mr. Jetsam, thinking obscurely and slangily that to be a bank-clerk was not all jam. “And you, too!” ordered Jetsam, raising a finger to Mr. Gloucester. Mr. Gloucester was not in love with a charming young thing at Weybridge. He never had been in love; he had never lived with anyone except himself and a bull-terrier; but he was fond of playing chess at night at Simpson’s; and he suddenly saw Simpson’s and the chess-boards, and the foamy quart, and the bull-terrier lying under the table. Life and Simpson’s seemed infinitely precious to him in those instants. And he put down his boxes and followed the bank-clerk to the suggested corner. “I must really----” he began protestingly. “Silence!” exploded Mr. Jetsam; and there was silence. You must picture the large, low room, with its concrete lining and its half-dozen sixteen candle-power electric lights burning in the ceiling; and underneath these lights the four men--Ilam leaning against the gigantic safe which rose out of the floor in the middle of the apartment; Jetsam still nonchalantly swinging his legs as he sat on the table, facing him directly; and the democracy, somewhat scared and undecided, in a corner. Jetsam had his back to the door, and since the two piles of coffers were near the door they were out of his field of vision. Jetsam winked at Ilam--deliberately winked at him. “Simple as a, b, c, isn’t it?” he pleasantly remarked. “What?” demanded Ilam. “What I’m doing now--holding up a strong room and its staff.” “You’ll suffer for this,” said Ilam. “That remains to be seen,” was the reply. “I gravely doubt if I shall suffer for it. Up to now, what have I done? I have asked those gentlemen to go into a corner and not to indulge in desultory and disturbing conversation; and they have been good enough to humour my caprice; and I have winked at you, Jos. Is there anything illegal in winking at you? A few days ago you did more than wink at me--you nearly killed me!” “I must go,” said Ilam. “I have an appointment--I----” He moved slightly.