Honor of Thieves by Cutcliffe Hyne — Read

Mr. Theodore Shelf had reached the end of his tether, and, like a shrewd business man, he knew it. There is a certain mad excitement in standing on a high ledge of an iceberg when the steps which you have clambered up by have splintered away, and the hundred-foot cliffs above are threatening every instant to descend in crashing avalanche. You know you have to jump into the cold green waters below, or be crushed out of existence; and lingering to the very last second is not without its fierce pleasures. The dive is chilly; the waters beneath unknown; final escape most hazardous. But it is not these things which make you loiter; it is the nearness of the crash behind; and that is fascinating beyond all words.

Mr. Shelf was in a similar position. He knew that his commercial ledge was growing more and more dangerous every minute, by reason of the Law of the Land which loomed above, and yet for the life of him he could not tear himself away. He had waiting for him that snug _estancia_ on the banks of the Rio Paraguay which he had time-before made ready against a possible cataclysm; but it was left to wait. The excitement of lingering on in London was meat and drink to him. His daring would be spoken about afterwards; and though, it is true, he might not be blessed, still he would not be forgotten.