"Every man followed his lead, the contagion of his example having spread through the room. The unloading was as much a part of the merriment of the evening as Tim's comic song or Sam's sallies of wit. Tim, all this time, had been edging near where Sam stood.
"'Out with your stuff, Peaslee,' shouted the millionnaire—'here, right on the table—everything.'
"Tim turned pale and made a step nearer Sam.
"'I haven't got the opal, Sam; indeed I haven't!' There was a tone in his voice that was almost pathetic.
"'Of course you haven't, old man, but out with your stuff, just as the others have. Hurry up!'
"'I can't, Sam!' groaned Tim.
"You can't!'
"'No, I can't! Please don't ask me. I must bid you good-night, gentlemen. Please let me go away,' and he moved to the door and shut it behind him.
"Every man looked at Sam. For a moment no one spoke. Collins himself was dumfounded.
"Damn queer, isn't it?' whispered the millionnaire to Sam. 'What do you think is the matter with him?'