He took some Oreos from the bottomless supply that stocked the cookie jar. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss. Montressor’s guests were. Don't you remember? There were four of us, and we went touring in the city. “Forgive me, madam,” he said stiffly, “but in such a case as this it is better that nothing in the room should be disturbed until the arrival of the police.
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