With this he produced his pocket-book, and took out carefully two small pieces of paper, folded up, which, after a very brief preliminary explanation which made Titmouse tremble from head to foot, and no longer disbelieve the representations of Gammon, he unfolded and read—Titmouse looking affrightedly over his shoulder.
"Do I know the hand-writing?" he inquired faintly.
"Probably not," replied Gammon.
"It's a devilish queer sort of writing, and precious little of it"——
"It is, and when you consider"——
"Are both in the same handwriting?" inquired Titmouse, taking them into his tremulous hand; while Gammon observed that his countenance indicated the despair which had taken possession of him.
"That cursed curtain is so much in the light," said Titmouse, looking up; and going towards it, as if to draw it aside, he started suddenly away from Gammon, and with frenzied gestures tore the little papers to pieces with inconceivable rapidity, and flung them out of the window, where a brisk breeze instantly took them up, and scattered them abroad—the glistening fragments—never to be again reunited.
Having performed this astounding feat, he instantly turned round, and leaning his back against the window, gazed at Gammon with a desperate air of mingled apprehension and triumph, but spoke not a word. Nor did Gammon; but—oh the dreadful look with which he regarded Titmouse while slowly approaching towards him! who, stepping aside, as Gammon advanced, reached the cabinet, and with desperate rapidity threw open the door, and, as if the devil had been waiting his bidding, in a moment turned round upon Gammon with a pistol.
"So help me God, I'll fire!" gasped Titmouse, cocking and presenting it—"I will—I WILL—One!—Two!—For God's sake! be off!—It's loaded, and no mistake!—If I say Th—I'll fire, if I'm hanged for it!"
"Booby! You may put your pistol down, sir!" said Gammon, calmly and resolutely, a contemptuous smile passing over his whitened features.