plant, pleasing alike to the eye and the nose.”
I caught Biffy’s eye across the table. It was bulging, and a strange light shone in it.
“Are you fond of flowers, Sir Roderick?” he croaked.
“Extremely.”
“Smell these.”
Sir Roderick dipped his head and sniffed. Biffy’s fingers closed slowly over the bulb. I shut my eyes and clutched the table.
“Very pleasant,” I heard Sir Roderick say. “Very pleasant indeed.”
I opened my eyes, and there was Biffy leaning back in his chair with a ghastly look, and the bouquet on the cloth beside him. I realized what had happened. In that supreme crisis of his life, with his whole happiness depending on a mere pressure of the fingers, Biffy, the poor spineless fish,