I perceived by the tense and expectant faces of the people that Simmons was behind me willing me with all his might.

I tried my best to imagine what he wanted, but nothing suggested itself.

I felt ashamed and miserable, then.

I believed that the hour of my disgrace was come, and that in another moment I should go out of that place disgraced.

I ought to be ashamed to confess it, but my next thought was, not how I could win the compassion of kindly hearts by going out humbly and in sorrow for my misdoings, but how I could go out most sensationally and spectacularly.
There was a rusty and empty old revolver lying on the table, among the "properties" employed in the performances.