Mr. Pell was waiting at the usual place of meeting at the appointed time; even he wore a pair of gloves and a clean shirt, much frayed at the collar and wristbands by frequent washings.

“A quarter to two,” said Pell, looking at the parlour clock. “If we are with Mr. Flasher at a quarter past, we shall just hit the best time.”

“What should you say to a drop o’ beer, gen’l’m’n?” suggested the mottled-faced man.

“And a little bit o’ cold beef,” said the second coachman.

“Or a oyster,” added the third, who was a hoarse gentleman, supported by very round legs.