We must now go back a little in our story — about three weeks — in order that the reader may be told how affairs were progressing at the Beargarden. That establishment had received a terrible blow in the defection of Herr Vossner. It was not only that he had robbed the club, and robbed every member of the club who had ventured to have personal dealings with him. Although a bad feeling in regard to him was no doubt engendered in the minds of those who had suffered deeply, it was not that alone which cast an almost funereal gloom over the club. The sorrow was in this — that with Herr Vossner all their comforts had gone. Of course Herr Vossner had been a thief. That no doubt had been known to them from the beginning. A man does not consent to be called out of bed at all hours in the morning to arrange the gambling accounts of young gentlemen without being a thief. No one concerned with Herr Vossner had supposed him to be an honest man. But then as a thief he had been so comfortable that his absence was regretted with a tenderness almost amounting to love even by those who had suffered most severely from his rapacity. Dolly Longestaffe had been robbed more outrageously than any other member of the club, and yet Dolly Longestaffe had said since the departure of the purveyor that London was not worth living in now that Herr Vossner was gone. In a week the Beargarden collapsed — as Germany would collapse for a period if Herr Vossner’s great compatriot were suddenly to remove himself from the scene; but as Germany would strive to live even without Bismarck, so did the club make its new efforts. But here the parallel must cease. Germany no doubt would at last succeed, but the Beargarden had received a blow from which it seemed that there was no recovery. At first it was proposed that three men should be appointed as trustees — trustees for paying Vossner’s debts, trustees for borrowing more money, trustees for the satisfaction of the landlord who was beginning to be anxious as to his future rent. At a certain very triumphant general meeting of the club it was determined that such a plan should be arranged, and the members assembled were unanimous. It was at first thought that there might be a little jealousy as to the trusteeship. The club was so popular and the authority conveyed by the position would be so great, that A, B, and C might feel aggrieved at seeing so much power conferred on D, E, and F. When at the meeting above mentioned one or two names were suggested, the final choice was postponed, as a matter of detail to be arranged privately, rather from this consideration than with any idea that there might be a difficulty in finding adequate persons. But even the leading members of the Beargarden hesitated when the proposition was submitted to them with all its honours and all its responsibilities. Lord Nidderdale declared from the beginning that he would have nothing to do with it — pleading his poverty openly. Beauchamp Beauclerk was of opinion that he himself did not frequent the club often enough. Mr Lupton professed his inability as a man of business. Lord Grasslough pleaded his father. The club from the first had been sure of Dolly Longestaffe’s services; — for were not Dolly’s pecuniary affairs now in process of satisfactory arrangement, and was it not known by all men that his courage never failed him in regard to money? But even he declined. ‘I have spoken to Squercum,’ he said to the Committee, ‘and Squercum won’t hear of it. Squercum has made inquiries and he thinks the club very shaky.’ When one of the Committee made a remark as to Mr Squercum which was not complimentary — insinuated indeed that Squercum without injustice might be consigned to the infernal deities Dolly took the matter up warmly. ‘That’s all very well for you, Grasslough; but if you knew the comfort of having a fellow who could keep you straight without preaching sermons at you you wouldn’t despise Squercum. I’ve tried to go alone and I find that does not answer. Squercum’s my coach, and I mean to stick pretty close to him.’ Then it came to pass that the triumphant project as to the trustees fell to the ground, although Squercum himself advised that the difficulty might be lessened if three gentlemen could be selected who lived well before the world and yet had nothing to lose. Whereupon Dolly suggested Miles Grendall. But the committee shook its heads, not thinking it possible that the club could be re-established on a basis of three Miles Grendalls.

Then dreadful rumours were heard. The Beargarden must surely be abandoned. ‘It is such a pity,’ said Nidderdale, ‘because there never has been anything like it.’

‘Smoke all over the house!’ said Dolly.

‘No horrid nonsense about closing,’ said Grasslough, ‘and no infernal old fogies wearing out the carpets and paying for nothing.’

‘Not a vestige of propriety, or any beastly rules to be kept! That’s what I liked,’ said Nidderdale.

‘It’s an old story,’ said Mr Lupton, ‘that if you put a man into Paradise he’ll make it too hot to hold him. That’s what you’ve done here.’

‘What we ought to do,’ said Dolly, who was pervaded by a sense of his own good fortune in regard to Squercum, ‘is to get some fellow like Vossner, and make him tell us how much he wants to steal above his regular pay. Then we could subscribe that among us. I really think that might be done. Squercum would find a fellow, no doubt.’ But Mr Lupton was of opinion that the new Vossner might perhaps not know, when thus consulted, the extent of his own cupidity.

One day, before the Whitstable marriage, when it was understood that the club would actually be closed on the 12th August unless some new heaven-inspired idea might be forthcoming for its salvation, Nidderdale, Grasslough, and Dolly were hanging about the hall and the steps, and drinking sherry and bitters preparatory to dinner, when Sir Felix Carbury came round the neighbouring corner and, in a creeping, hesitating fashion, entered the hall door. He had nearly recovered from his wounds, though be still wore a bit of court plaster on his upper lip, and had not yet learned to look or to speak as though he had not had two of his front teeth knocked out. He had heard little or nothing of what had been done at the Beargarden since Vossner’s defection, It was now a month since he had been seen at the club. His thrashing had been the wonder of perhaps half nine days, but latterly his existence had been almost forgotten. Now, with difficulty, he had summoned courage to go down to his old haunt, so completely had he been cowed by the latter circumstances of his life; but he had determined that he would pluck up his courage, and talk to his old associates as though no evil thing had befallen him. He had still money enough to pay for his dinner and to begin a small rubber of whist. If fortune should go against him he might glide into I.O.U.‘s — as others had done before, so much to his cost. ‘By George, here’s Carbury!’ said Dolly. Lord Grasslough whistled, turned his back, and walked upstairs; but Nidderdale and Dolly consented to have their hands shaken by the stranger.

‘Thought you were out of town,’ said Nidderdale, ‘Haven’t seen you for the last ever so long.’

‘I have been out of town,’ said Felix — lying; ‘down in Suffolk. But I’m back now. How are things going on here?’

‘They’re not going at all; — they’re gone,’ said Dolly. ‘Everything is smashed,’ said Nidderdale.

‘We shall all have to pay, I don’t know how much.’

‘Wasn’t Vossner ever caught?’ asked the baronet.

‘Caught!’ ejaculated Dolly. ‘No; — but he has caught us. I don’t know that there has ever been much idea of catching Vossner. We close altogether next Monday, and the furniture is to be gone to law for. Flatfleece says it belongs to him under what he calls a deed of sale. Indeed, everything that everybody has seems to belong to Flatfleece. He’s always in and out of the club, and has got the key of the cellar.’

‘That don’t matter,’ said Nidderdale, ‘as Vossner took care that there shouldn’t be any wine.’

‘He’s got most of the forks and spoons, and only lets us use what we have as a favour.’

‘I suppose one can get a dinner here?’

‘Yes; to-day you can, and perhaps to-morrow,’

‘Isn’t there any playing?’ asked Felix with dismay.

‘I haven’t seen a card this fortnight,’ said Dolly. ‘There hasn’t been anybody to play. Everything has gone to the dogs. There has been the affair of Melmotte, you know; — though, I suppose, you do know all about that.’

‘Of course I know he poisoned himself.’

‘Of course that had effect,’ said Dolly, continuing his history. ‘Though why fellows shouldn’t play cards because another fellow like that takes poison, I can’t understand. Last year the only day I managed to get down in February, the hounds didn’t come because some old cove had died. What harm could our hunting have done him? I call it rot.’

‘Melmotte’s death was rather awful,’ said Nidderdale.

‘Not half so awful as having nothing to amuse one. And now they say the girl is going to be married to Fisker. I don’t know how you and Nidderdale like that. I never went in for her myself. Squercum never seemed to see it.’

‘Poor dear!’ said Nidderdale. ‘She’s welcome for me, and I dare say she couldn’t do better with herself. I was very fond of her; — I’ll be shot if I wasn’t.’

‘And Carbury too, I suppose,’ said Dolly.

‘No; I wasn’t. If I’d really been fond of her I suppose it would have come off. I should have had her safe enough to America, if I’d cared about it.’ This was Sir Felix’s view of the matter.

‘Come into the smoking-room, Dolly,’ said Nidderdale. ‘I can stand most things, and I try to stand everyth............