And at these moments, when contradictions rained like hail, the well-known irritability of the Secretary of the Gun Club constituted a permanent danger for the Honorable Belfast. The existence of these two together would soon have become impossible; but an unforeseen event cut short their everlasting discussions.
During the night, from the 14th to the 15th of December, the two irreconcilable friends were busy observing the lunar disc, J. T. Maston abusing the learned Belfast as usual, who was by his side; the Secretary of the Gun Club maintaining for the thousandth time that he had just seen the projectile, and adding that he could see Michel Ardan's face looking through one of the scuttles, at the same time enforcing his argument by a series of gestures which his formidable hook rendered very unpleasant.
At this moment Belfast's servant appeared on the platform (it was ten at night) and gave him a despatch. It was the commander of the "Susquehanna's" telegram.
Belfast tore the envelope and read, and uttered a cry.
"What!" said J. T. Maston.
THE UNFORTUNATE MAN HAD DISAPPEARED.
"The projectile!"
"Well!"
"Has fallen to the earth!"