Moreover, even Prosper, mindful of the suspicious jealousy of his associates, did not dare to disturb the outer covering of his prey until the rest arrived, although his clawlike fingers worked around it, as it lay in his pocket, with a perfect ague-shake of mingled greed and curiosity. The hour agreed upon was not likely to be overstaid on such an occasion as that, and Prosper was in no danger of being long compelled to bear his temptation alone. First came the little, dapper, sharp-visaged person who had made so good an imitation of a fit, then Major Montague, and, closely following him were two very well dressed, respectable-looking gentlemen, who had been conspicuous as active members of the “crowd” in front of Stewart’s. “Now, gentlemen,” said Prosper, “we are all here and it may be there’s no time to lose. We’ve made a magnificent haul, or I’m mistaken. There it is.” And so saying he threw down upon the table before them the elegantly finished Russia leather wallet, which Barnaby Vernon had received from the “dropper” a few hours earlier, plump and full as when Bar had refused to “divide the reward” for it. The eyes of the whole party glistened with expectation, and more than one of them drew a long breath and reached out an involuntary hand. It was by no means easy for such men to look upon a pocketbook like that and not lay a finger on it. “Open it, Monsieur Prosper,” said Major Montague, dignifiedly. “Let all witness the opening and feel sure of the exact justice of our mutual dealings.” A hum of approbation ran around the little circle as Prosper’s unsteady fingers drew the strap and disclosed the precious contents to their admiring gaze. “What’s that?” almost instantly thereafter shouted Major Montague. “Prosper, you old villain, do you think you can play any such game on us?” The chorus of wrath, indignation, bitterness, profanity that followed upon the major’s “opening” would have defied a dozen stenographers, and poor old Prosper bent tremblingly and helplessly before the storm, vainly protesting the truth that the wallet had not left his pocket until he laid it before them on the table. No such assertion could be of any manner of service. Were they all fools? Had Dr. Manning rigged himself for the drop game? What had he done with the money? And then came darker hints and threats, until Prosper, almost beside himself with rage, fear, and perplexity, actually stuck his head out of the open window and yelled: “Police! police!” at the top of his voice. The room behind him was empty in a moment, but Bar Vernon’s afternoon work had resulted in forever disbanding what had threatened, from the skill and ability of its well-trained membership, to be one of the most dangerous gangs of rogues that ever infested the metropolis. Prosper knew that he would thenceforth be a marked man, even among the thieving fraternity itself, and could hope for no more confederates.