Jacob watched the departure of his host, through a slit in the wall, with fascinated eyes. First of all he saw him paddle across the channel to the other side, secure the boat and pause to light a cigarette. Afterwards, on his way back to the Castle, he entered the walled gardens, plucked a peach from the wall and ate it. Finally he disappeared down one of the yew-bordered walks. The house still seemed wrapped in slumber. Jacob took stock of his surroundings. The walls which, to judge from the slits, were about three feet thick, were of rude granite. There was no fireplace, no chair, no furniture of any sort. The floor was of cold stone. The place in itself was enough to strike a chill into one’s heart. One huge aperture looked out upon the open sea, sloping down towards it. The other, much narrower, commanded a view of the house. There was nothing else to discover. He counted his cigarettes and found sixteen, with an ample supply of matches. He lit one, and, taking off his coat for a seat, sat upon the floor and leaned back against the wall.

In about two hours and a half the house began to show some signs of life. In about three hours, Jacob’s heart gave a little jump as he saw Lady Mary scramble down the little piece of shelving beach and examine the rope by which the boat was secured. She lifted one of the oars, which was still wet, and then without hesitation turned and hurried back to the house. In less than half an hour, he saw her mounted on a rough but useful-looking pony, cantering down the drive. Somehow or other, she seemed to him, even at that moment, like a messenger of hope. An hour later, Montague and Hartwell came strolling down, smoking huge cigars. The latter unfastened the rope and paddled clumsily across. A few minutes later, Jacob heard the turning of the keys in the lock of the outer door and their footsteps ascending the stairs. Montague peered in through the bars. A little cloud of tobacco smoke blew into the place.

“Well, Jacob, my Napoleon of finance, how goes it?” he enquired lightly.

“If you’ll step inside for two minutes, I’ll show you,” Jacob answered.

Mr. Dane Montague chuckled.

“I have never graduated in the fistic arts myself,” he confessed. “Besides, once bit, twice shy, you know. We are going to put this little thing through without any unnecessary risk.”

“What is it?” Jacob demanded. “Money?”

“Money comes in all right,” Hartwell muttered from behind, in an evil tone, “but I guess there’s something more than that coming to you before you quit, Pratt.”

“Why don’t you come in and give it me, then?” Jacob asked. “You’re a bigger man than I am, by a long way.”

“We’re going to wait a bit,” Hartwell retorted with a chuckle. “You’ve been living a little high, Jacob Pratt. We think your system wants lowering.”

“You’re not talking business yet, then?”

“Not just yet, my dear friend,” Montague interposed. “It seems a shame to have taken a dislike to so amiable a gentleman, but the fact remains that we do not like you, Joe Hartwell and I. Once or twice you have been too clever for us. We want to linger over the time when we are just a little too clever for you. So au revoir, Jacob Pratt, until after lunch.”

They came again after lunch, redolent of food and drink and tobacco.

“What about a cold chicken and a pint of Mumm, eh?” Montague suggested through the bars.

“Go to hell!” Jacob, who had forgotten his early breakfast and liked his meals regularly, retorted.

They indulged in a few other pleasantries, which Jacob cut short with an abrupt question.

“How long is this tomfoolery going on?” he demanded. “What’s the end of it all going to be?”

Montague, with his unpleasant, leering face, was pushed away from behind the grating. Hartwell took his place.

“You’re going to be paid out for that upper cut you gave me, for one thing,” he announced. “We’re going to wait until you’re tamed, and then you’re going to be thrashed within an inch of your life. After that, there’s a little estate of the Marquis’s round here you might like to buy. We’ve got the agreement all drawn out.”

“And after that,” Montague shouted, “God knows what will happen to you!”...

The afternoon wore on. Towards five o’clock, Jacob, who was sitting in a corner, holding his head, was conscious of a strange sound from seawards. He hurried over to the other window. In a little dinghy, tossed like a cork by the heavy swell, he could see Lady Mary, in an exceedingly becoming bathing dress, trying to balance herself with an oar against the side of the precipitous cliff.

“Are you in there?” she called out.

“Hullo!” Jacob answered. “I should think I was!”

She leaned down and picked up a sea-fishing rod. Jacob was terrified as he saw her swaying backwards and forwards.

“Be careful!” he shouted.

“I’m all right,” she assured him. “If I get a ducking, don’t be afraid. I’m out for a swim, anyway. If I can cast inside the opening there, can you reach it?”

“If it’s anything to eat, I will,” he promised.

“Here goes, then!”

At the fifth or sixth attempt, a package, wrapped in oilskins, landed inside the aperture. Jacob, lifting himself from the floor, reached it at once, undid the fastening, and sent the line clear.

“Don’t go away,” she cried. “There’s whisky coming.”

“Angel!” he shouted.

“May take me some time,” she called back. “I’ve had to take out a joint of the rod to carry the weight.”

At the third attempt, a couple of flasks, tied together, came clattering into the aperture. Jacob pounced upon them with joy.

“There’s some water there,” she told him. “Throw all the paper away. I’ll be round again in the morning before any one’s up, at about five o’clock. Don’t let them scare you. I’m doing things.”

“Bless you!” he called out.

“Do you like this bathing suit, or do you prefer the one I wore yesterday?”

“You look divine,” he answered. “So do these beef sandwiches.”

“What luck those apertures slope downwards,” she said, “or you couldn’t see me!”

“The luck of my life,” he agreed, with his mouth full.

“Do you know why they do slope downwards?” she asked.

“No idea.”

“So that prisoners, when they get tired of it, can roll down into the sea.”

“I shan’t be tired of this for a long time,” he assured her.

There was a pause. Jacob ceased eating for a moment to gaze with admiration at the girl in the boat, carried up and down by the swell, but balancing herself always with an amazing confidence.

“I say, I’m awfully sorry about this,” she called up.

“Seems a trifle feudal,” he replied. “What will be done with my remains?”

“You eat your sandwiches and don’t worry,” she insisted. “I told you I was doing things. If they get violent, I’ll take a hand.—I’ll have to get back unless I want to be swamped.”...

Jacob ate half his sandwiches, drank a good deal of whisky and water, and took a little exercise. He then had a nap, woke up and finished his sandwiches with an amazingly good appetite, had another whisky and water and thrust the flask into his pocket. He lit a cigarette, doubled up his coat, and was lounging against the wall when he heard the key once more turn in the lock of the downstairs door. There was the sound of ascending footsteps, and presently Montague’s glittering shirt front appeared through the grating. Joe Hartwell again was by his side. They peered in.

“Cheerio!” Jacob exclaimed.

Montague was a little taken aback.

“You’re bearing up pretty well,” he observed.

“What have I got to bear up about?” Jacob demanded. “I’ve just had a damned good meal.”

Montague regarded his prisoner with a gleam of admiration in his face.

“You’re a well plucked ’un, Pratt,” he observed. “What a saddle of mutton we’ve just had for dinner!”

“Nothing to the sirloin I’ve just had,” Jacob rejoined.

Hartwell pushed a flask of water and a hunk of bread through the grating.

“Here,” he said, “do you feel like giving a tenner for a whisky and soda?”

“I’m not thirsty, thanks,” Jacob replied, collecting his supper. “These will make an excellent meal for me.”

“He’s a little wonder,” Montague muttered.

“Nothing to be done with him to-night,” Hartwell growled. “Let’s leave the little blighter.”

Jacob slept amazingly well. He was awakened by the sound of a soft and insistent whistle below. He sprang up and looked through the aperture. The wind had dropped in the night. Eastwards were long bars of amber and mauve, piercing the faint mist. Below, Lady Mary scarcely rocked in her boat.

“Well, dear guest,” she called up, “how was the spare-room bed?”

“Hard,” he admitted. “Never mind, I’ve slept like a top.”

“Listen,” she continued. “It’s such a wonderful morning that I’ve brought you quite a stock. No one comes in the room, do they?”

“They daren’t,” Jacob answered tersely.

“I’m sending you up some nails and string. What you can’t eat or drink now, you can let hang down. And listen. I’m sending you something else up. Don’t use it unless they get brutal.”

“They’re waiting for me to lose strength!” Jacob chuckled. “I never felt so fit in my life. How high is it from this window?”

“Thirty feet.”

“Why shouldn’t I make a dive for it?” he suggested.

“Because there are sunken rocks everywhere around,” she replied. “I couldn’t get here myself unless I knew the way. Now, then, get ready.”

One by one, a flask of coffee, two packets of sandwiches, a small box of nails and some string reached him, and last of all a small revolver, fully charged.

“Got everything?” she asked.

“Rather!” he answered. “How is your hospitable father?”

“A little impatient,” she answered. “He is going to sell you a couple of thousand acres of moor and a tumble-down manse for thirty thousand pounds.”

“Is he?” Jacob asked. “Shall I be able to wear kilts and have a bagpipe man?”

“There are no feudal rights,” she told him. “Besides, I don’t think you’d look well in kilts.”

“Well, there isn’t going to be any thirty thousand pounds,” Jacob declared.

She took out her oars.

“I hope some day you’ll make up to me for all this,” she said. “I seem to spend the whole of my time looking after you.”

“If it weren’t for that fellow Maurice!” Jacob called after her, as she disappeared.

They left him alone that day until after luncheon, and Jacob began to find the time hang heavily upon his hands. There was very little to watch except the wheeling seagulls, now and then a distant steamer, and the waves breaking upon the crag-strewn shore. Through the landward aperture, the great house all through the long, sunny morning seemed somnolent, almost deserted, but towards luncheon time a motor-car arrived from the direction of the station, containing a single passenger. About half an hour later three men came down the shingle, stepped into the boat and paddled across towards the tower,—Montague, Hartwell, and a brawny, thickset companion dressed in a rather loud black-and-white check suit and a cap of the same material. Jacob sat facing the door with his hand behind his back. Some slices of bread and a bottle of water were pushed through the grating, as before. Then Montague’s face appeared, sleek and smiling, with a new glitter of malevolence in the beady eyes.

“What about luncheon to-day, Jacob?” he demanded. “A small chicken pie and a cold sirloin of beef, eh, with lettuce and tomato salad, and half a stilton to follow. A glass or two of port with the cheese, if you fancy it.”

Jacob shook his head.

“I’ve done better than that,” he replied. “I’ve had pÂtÉ-de-foie-gras sandwiches and a pint of champagne. I wish you fellows wouldn’t disturb my after-luncheon nap. I’d much rather you looked in about tea time.”

Hartwell dragged his companion to one side and pressed his own clean-shaven, pudgy face against the bars.

“Say, Jacob Pratt,” he began, “just put that bluff away for a moment, if you can. I want a word with you.”

“There is nothing to prevent it,” Jacob assured him. “I am an earnest listener.”

“You fancy yourself some as a boxer, don’t you?” queried Hartwell.

“You ought to know what I can do,” Jacob answered, with a reminiscent smile.

Hartwell’s face darkened.

“Curse you, you little pup!” he muttered. “Anyways,” he went on, “you won’t be quite so flip with your tongue in half an hour’s time. We’ve a gentleman here from Glasgow come down to amuse you. Like to have a look at him?”

The door was opened and closed again. The man in the black-and-white check suit entered. Seen at close quarters, he turned out to be a very fine specimen of the bull-necked, sandy-haired prize fighter. He came about a yard into the place and stood grinning at Jacob.

“Like an introduction?” Hartwell continued. “Shake hands with the Glasgow Daisy, then—Mr. Jacob Pratt.”

Jacob looked the newcomer up and down.

“To what am I indebted,” he asked, “for this unexpected pleasure?”

The Glasgow Daisy grinned again, until his face seemed all freckles and flashing white teeth.

“Guv’nor,” he announced, “I’ve got to give you a hiding, but I’d never have taken the job on if I’d known you were a bantam weight. Better come on and get it over. I shan’t do more than knock you about a bit.”

“I don’t think you’ll even do that,” Jacob replied, without moving.

The man solemnly took off his coat, unfastened his collar and tie and turned up his shirt sleeves as though he meant business.

“Come on, guv’nor,” he invited, making a feint in Jacob’s direction. “I won’t hurt you more than I can help.”

Jacob withdrew his right hand from behind his back, and the little revolver which he was holding flashed in a glint of sunshine.

“I’ll give you till I count ten to get outside,” he said.

The man promptly abandoned his sparring position and turned towards the grating.

“’Ere,” he called out truculently, “see that, guv’nor?”

“Don’t be afraid,” Hartwell rejoined. “It isn’t loaded.”

The prize fighter took a step forward.

“... ten,” concluded Jacob, who had been counting all the time.

There was a sharp report and a yell of pain. The prize fighter, hopping on his right leg and holding his left ankle, seized a bar of the grating.

“If you don’t let me out, you b—y b—s, I’ll pound you both into a jelly!” he shouted. “I’ve a damned good mind to do it now! This’ll cost you five hundred quid, this will! If I can’t fight next Tuesday, it’ll cost you a thousand. Open the b—y door!”

They let him out, and Jacob, through the aperture, watched the three men make slow progress to the boat, one on each side supporting the Glasgow Daisy, whose language the whole of the way was vociferous and obscene. Afterwards Jacob once more found time hanging heavily upon his hands. He sharpened his penknife and commenced to carve his initials on the wall. There were no signs of Lady Mary or any other visitors until after dinner. Then the Marquis came slowly down from the castle, paused to light a cigarette when he reached the boat, and paddled himself over, looking around all the time with the air of one enjoying the scenery and the beautiful evening. Finally he climbed the stone stairs and presented himself at the other side of the grating.

“Mr. Pratt,” he said, “I am sorry that you did not appreciate our friends’ little effort to provide you with some amusement in the way of your favourite sport.”

“Thank you,” Jacob replied, “I don’t fight professional heavyweights.”

“I am afraid,” the Marquis observed with a sigh, “that this particular heavyweight will not be in fighting trim again for some months. A heavy responsibility for you, Mr. Pratt.”

Jacob smiled.

“I didn’t engage him,” he said.

“In a sense, perhaps, you did not,” the Marquis admitted, “but yours appears to be the hand which maimed him. The Glasgow Daisy, as I believe he is called in pugilistic circles, appears to be a person of considerable determination, not to say obstinacy. He declines to leave the Castle until he has received at least five hundred pounds on account of his injury. I left him arguing the matter with Mr. Montague. The interview promised to be a stormy one.”

Jacob laughed softly.

“I hope he gives them both a hiding,” he remarked.

The Marquis coughed, and, coming a little nearer to the grating, scrutinised Jacob with some surprise.

“You seem to be keeping very fit,” he observed.

“Doing me a lot of good, this change of diet,” Jacob assured him. “We all eat too much.”

“Nevertheless,” the Marquis proceeded, “we feel that it is time our little enterprise was ended. I have a fancy to have you for a neighbour, Mr. Pratt.”

“Very charming of you,” Jacob replied. “So far as I have seen anything of the country around, I like it.”

“That,” the Marquis rejoined, “simplifies matters. The Lasswade Moor Estate, adjoining mine, is yours for fifty thousand pounds. I have the agreement in my pocket. To-morrow the price will be fifty-five thousand, and the next day sixty thousand.”

“When can I inspect the property?” Jacob asked.

The Marquis coughed.

“I fear,” he replied, “that there will be no opportunity for anything of that sort. You must take my word for it that the land which, although fortunately unentailed, has been in the possession of my family for centuries, is in every respect desirable.”

“Moorland and boulder-strewn heath, I suppose?” Jacob queried.

“It possesses the characteristics of common land,” the other admitted. “It would make an excellent golf links.”

“Nothing doing,” Jacob decided. “When I buy an estate, I shall want a house with it.”

“A mansion suitable to your requirements could easily be built.”

Jacob shook his head.

“The idea of building a modern house in such a spot,” he said, “distresses me.”

“I understand, then, that you decline to purchase my property?” the Marquis asked regretfully.

“In toto and absolutely,” was the firm reply. “In other words, I am not having any.”

“In that case,” the visitor announced, after a brief pause, “it is my somewhat painful duty to tell you that we have decided to stop your daily supply of bread and water. You thrive too well on it.”

“Just as you like,” was the careless rejoinder. “I can do with or without food.”

The Marquis contemplated his guest for several moments in silence.

“You will permit me to say, Mr. Pratt, that your courage moves me to the profoundest admiration,” he declared at last. “I trust that after this little business negotiation is concluded, I shall have the privilege of your friendship for many years to come.”

“You’re rather boring me,” Jacob told him mildly. “I want to get on with my initials. I’m doing them in Old English.”

“I should be sorry to interfere with so courteous a duty,” the Marquis replied—and departed.