oment
that an appeal to Uncle Meshach could be successful. One other idea
struck him forcibly by reason of its strangeness: namely, that the works
was proceeding exactly as usual, raw material always coming in, finished
goods always going out, the various shops hot and murmurous with toil,
money tinkling in the petty cash-box, the very engine beneath his floor
beating its customary monotonous stroke; and his comfortable home was
proceeding exactly as usual, the man hissing about the stable yard, the
servants discreetly moving in the immaculate kitchens, Leonora elegant
with sovereigns in her purse, the girls chattering and restless; not a
single outward sign of disaster; and yet he was at the end, absolutely
at the end at last. There was going to be a magnificent and
unparalleled sensation in the town of Bursley ... He seemed for an
instant dimly to perceive ways, or incomplete portions of ways, by which
he might still escape ... Then with a brusque gesture he dismissed such
futile scheming and yielded anew to the impulse which had suddenly and
piquantly seized him, three hours before, when Leonora said: 'Uncle
Meshach won't,' and he replied, 'I've fixed it up.' His dilemma was too
complicated. No one, not even Dain, was aware of its intricacies; Dain
knew a lot, Leonora a little, and sundry other persons odd fragments.
But he himself could scarcely have drawn the outlines of the whole
sinister situation without much reference to books and correspondence.
No, he had finished. He was bored, and he was irritable. The impulse
hurried him on.

'In half an hour that ass Twemlow will be here,' he thought, looking at
the office dial over the mantelpiece.

And then he left his room, calling out to the clerks' room as he passed:
'Just going on to the bank. I shall be back in a minute or two.'

At the south-western corner of the works was a disused enamel-kiln which
had been built experimentally and had proved a failure. He walked
through the yard, crept with some difficulty into the kiln, and closed
the iron door. A pale silver light came down the open chimney. He had
decided as he crossed the yard that he should place the mouth of the
revolver between his eyes, so that he had nothing to do in the kiln but
to put it there and touch the trigger. The idea of this simple action
preoccupied him. 'Yes,' he reflected, taking the revolver from his
pocket, 'that is where I must put it, and then just touch the trigger.'
He thought nei