Richard Frencham Altar was exceedingly affable in the car. It was a big, comfortable, Rolls saloon, and he sat between Van Diest and the American. Laurence occupied the seat next to the driver.

He had tried to say a few words to Auriole before taking his place in the car but she had merely shrugged her shoulders and entered a waiting taxi. The two vehicles drove in opposite directions, from which it would appear that her task in the affair was accomplished.

"I hope I shall see some more of that young lady," he remarked. Van
Diest nodded gloomily and Hipps jerked out:

"Probably will."

After that they drove in silence.

"Forgive me for criticising your methods," said Richard at last, "but shouldn't I be blindfolded or something? I'm familiar with all these roads and could walk back without even asking the way."

"There might be difficulties."

"Oh, quite. It was only a suggestion. I want to keep up the spirit of the thing. If I have to be Shanghaied I'd like it to be done properly."

"You wass very high spirited, Mr. Barraclough."

"Why not? Comfortable car—pleasant company."

"Yees. With us this was a very serious business."

"That's all to the good, but let's keep in humour. By the way, since everything's open and above board, where are you taking me?"

"Laurence's house."

"Wanted to know 'cos of getting my letters forwarded."

"There won't be a whole lot of communication with the outer world," said Hipps.

"I see. And how long are you proposing to keep me there?"

"My dear old fellow," Laurence spoke over his shoulder, "that depends entirely on yourself."

There was deeper significance in the tone than in the words.

"That's cordial," said Richard, "downright hostly."

"But paste this in your hat," said Hipps ominously. "Conditions won't improve by outstaying your welcome. It'll be sweet if you make it short—if not——"

He did not complete the sentence.

"A declining stock," Richard smiled then shook his head reproachfully. "You know, gentlemen, yours is an extremely heterodox way of doing business. You must be feeling pretty hopeless to have resorted to measures of this kind."

"I guess the market'll improve," said Hipps and relapsed into silence.

It seemed ages before the car slowed down and entered the gates of a solid mid-Victorian house, isolated from similar houses by two or three acres of treeful grounds. The front door was opened by two men-servants of none too prepossessing appearance, who came down the steps as the car pulled up. It was significant of precaution that they tacitly formed up one on each side of Richard and escorted him within.

"The only thing lacking," he remarked, "is a red carpet and an awning."

But his disposition toward gaiety was unshared by his companions. The two servants conducted him mutely into the dining room where a meal was awaiting them. Van Diest beckoned him to a place at the table and, tucking a napkin under his left ear, seated himself and began to attack the victuals without comment. Ezra P. Hipps turned the key in the lock and dropped it in his pocket before occupying the chair facing Richard. As the ostensible host Laurence sat at the head of the table and instructed the servants to open the wine. The change of courses was effected by means of a small service lift inset in one of the walls.

Not the smallest effort was made at conversation—dishes came and went, glasses were filled and emptied in absolute silence. There was something ominous in this freedom from talk and the quiet broken only by the tinkle of table implements and the rather noisy character of Van Diest's feeding. Richard was struck by the old man's prodigious capacity for devouring food. He ate with a calculated energy as though the safety of nations depended upon his sustenance. Apart from the ordinary fare, he demolished about eighteen inches of a long French loaf at his side, tearing pieces from it with his short stubby fingers and filling his mouth with great wads of crust and dough. Richard afterwards learnt that this voracity of appetite was nerve begotten. In moments of acute agitation it was Van Diest's custom to eat enormously on the theory that a full belly begets a placid mind. His little piglike eyes darted to and fro among the cates before him assuring themselves that he was missing nothing.

In direct antithesis to this wolfish feeding were the manners of Oliver Laurence. He toyed with his victuals, cutting them into the littlest pieces and almost flirting with his glass of wine.

Ezra P. Hipps ate and drank, as he did everything else in life—thoroughly and with conviction. The meal finished he pushed back his chair, unlocked the door, tilted his head to indicate to the servants that they could get out, locked the door again and crossed to the mantelpiece.

"Cigar," he said.

Laurence provided one and offered a light. Hipps shook his head and sticking the cigar in his mouth he proceeded to eat it with a curious rotary motion.

"Now!" he said and it sounded like a blow upon a gong.

"Curtain up," said Richard and steeled himself for any eventuality.

"You're caught, Mr. Barraclough."

"But not caught out," came the instant reply.

"Ever handled a cheque for a million pounds?"

"I have not."

"Van!"

Mr. Van Diest felt in his pockets and produced a banker's draft which he laid on the table before Richard. It was payable to the order of Anthony Barraclough.

Richard flicked it aside.

"Old ground," he said. "No good to me, gentlemen."

"Let's talk."

"Fire away."

"I needn't repeat what you have to do to earn that trifle, Anthony, but here's a point worth considering. Doubtless you got the idea the price we're willing to pay'll rise. You're wrong—it'll fall. If you speak tonight that draft's yours and an interest beside, but every day you keep us waiting'll cost you fifty thousand pounds."

"Thank God I can afford it," said Richard.

"Roughly speaking it'll pan out over a period of three weeks, at the end of which time you get just nothing, savez?"

"I savez that you and I will be in the same position at the end as we are at the beginning."

Ezra P. Hipps shook his head gravely but his metallic blue eyes never shifted their gaze for an instant.

"Tony boy," he said. "The price isn't solely financial. There's a little physical programme in the skyline. Get me?"

"Sounds like a threat."

"And is," came the rejoinder.

"Interesting."

The American took three steps forward and leant across the table.

"For example," he said, "you smoke too much and smoking'll be curtailed."

With a quick movement he plucked the cigarette from Richard's mouth and threw it into the grate.

A dull red surged over Richard's face as he sprang to his feet.

"I warn you——" he began, then checked himself at the sudden memory of
Cranbourne's words. He was not allowed to put up a fight.

"Well, what?"

"Oh, nothing. I've neither the mood nor the patience to teach you manners."

His hand went out to take another cigarette from a silver box at his side.

"No smoking," repeated Hipps in a level voice.

"Don't be asinine, my good fool."

His extended hand trembled, yearning to knot itself into a fist. The silver box was just beyond the American's reach but seizing a small glass jug he threw the contents over Richard's hand, drenching the cigarette he had picked up and half filling the box with water. The quickness and effrontery of the action, its insolent disregard of all the laws of courtesy acted on Richard's temper as a spark on gun cotton.

"I'm damned if I'll stand for that," he shouted and kicking his chair out of the way made a dash round the table toward Hipps. It was Laurence who shot out the leg that tripped him and before he could scramble to his feet both the American and the Englishman were sitting on his back.

"Steady, steady, old chap," Laurence beseeched him. "It's an almighty pity to start this way."

Hipps' long fingers had closed scientifically on the back of Richard's neck and were paralysing the movements of his head. His nose was pressed good and hard into the pile of the carpet. It was all very painful.

"Are you going to quit fighting, Anthony?"

After all there was no particular value in adding to one's discomfort. They were three to one and in a locked room with reinforcements outside. Moreover, had there been a chance of requitals or escape he was under orders to accept neither. But in his existing state of indignation Richard could not induce himself to acknowledge defeat. The fighting strain in his nature could only be satisfied by getting in at least one substantial return for the indignity put upon him.

He was lying near to the grate, his head having narrowly missed the fender rail in the fall. His right hand, which was free, lay across Dutch tiling within easy reach of the open fire from which was projecting conveniently a blazing log. The end nearest him was as yet untouched by the flames and, without considering consequences, Richard dragged it out of the fire and viciously thrust it upward. More by luck than judgment the burning brand scorched across the side of Hipps' face.

"Hell!" came the cry and instantaneously the weight on his back was gone and he was free to rise.

Oliver Laurence, to avoid danger, had thrown himself backwards and was now under the table, looking very like a child playing hide and seek. The American had backed against the buffet but his general dignity suffered a reverse from the fact that his first thought was of remedy rather than revenge. He had picked up a piece of butter and was rubbing it vigorously on his burnt cheek. In the shadows Mr. Van Diest was shaking his head in sorrowful disapproval of the whole proceedings. For the life of him Richard could not help laughing.

"I'm extremely sorry, gentlemen," he said, "but you did ask for trouble." He raised the corner of the table cloth and addressed Laurence. "If you've quite done amusing yourself under there you might come out and give me a cigarette."

Laurence, looking painfully ridiculous, emerged and handed his case to Richard who took one and lit it slowly from the glowing brand which he still retained.

"I think we had better come to an immediate understanding," he said. "I am perfectly prepared to treat you all with civility as long as I receive the same treatment from you, but please understand that I will not tolerate any funny business." An idea flashed suddenly into his brain. "Just one thing more—there was some talk earlier this evening of trying to poison the mind of my—my fiancÉe in regard to a question of my morals. That was a particularly offensive idea and I want your assurance that you'll drop it. Otherwise——" he took a few paces toward the window, "I shall set fire to your curtains and keep you gentlemen busy until the woodwork has caught. I imagine you aren't wanting the fire brigade or the intrusion of any other respectable force at the moment."

"Seems to me, my son——" began Hipps.

But Van Diest interrupted him.

"Let us agree to this suggestion," he said. "For my part I wass very sorry to make enemy of our goot guest. S'no troubles about that."

"Thank you," said Richard. "Then if you've nothing further to ask me
I'd be glad to turn in."

Hipps walked across the room and unlocked the door. The two servants came in.

"Show this gentleman to his apartment."

"Goodnight, everyone," said Richard.

He was passing out when Hipps laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Say," he said, touching his cheek. "You fired me with some ambition to see your flag at half mast. Admire your spirit and all that, but it kind o' gets my goat being branded by a youngster. Ain't used to it. We want that inf. o' yours and want it quick. My advice to you is, don't monkey with our patience. It won't pay."

"If you count this as a day," Richard replied with a grin, "it's cost me fifty thousand already."

For a moment Hipps made no reply and when at last he spoke his remark appeared to have no bearing on the matter in hand.

"In France during the war?" he asked.

"I was."

"Awkward stuff, that poison gas."

"Very awkward."

"Beastly smell."

"Horrid."

"Makes me cry to think of it."

"But you're a born sentimentalist."

"Ah. Goodnight. Shan't be meeting again for a few days. But Laurence here'll bring any messages."

"I shan't trouble him," said Richard.

"No? Well, that's your concern." Once again he relapsed into silence, then very suddenly flashed out the single word "Pineapple."

Richard was accompanied up the stairs by the two silent servants. They ushered him into a room on the top landing, bowed and retired. The door closed with a metallic ring. He heard the sliding of a bolt, the jingle of a chain and the sound of footsteps descending. And all of a sudden he felt very lonely.