Hilbert Torrington was first to arrive. His big car deposited him at Crest Chambers at ten forty-five, a quarter of an hour before the time promised for Barraclough's arrival. The ever attentive Doran took his hat and coat, turned on the table lamp and provided him with a pack of Patience cards.

"You look hopeful, sir," he remarked.

"I always expect the best till I have knowledge of the worst," came the smiling rejoinder. "I trust you have quite recovered from the effects of the anaesthetic."

"Thank you, sir. But my recovery'll date from the hour the Captain gets back."

Doran liked to refer to his master by the military rank he had borne during the war.

"To be sure," said Mr. Torrington. "That will be a welcome event to all of us."

Next came Cranbourne, very anxious and ever pulling out his watch, tugging at his lower lip or pacing up and down.

"Why not take a chair?" suggested Mr. Torrington.

"Can't! I feel things y'know."

"All my life I've been feeling things without showing it," came the reflective observation. "If only I had that two of diamonds! It's sure to be the last card."

"How you can sit there playing cards!"

"I'm too old to walk about."

Cranbourne stopped and looked at him.

"Mr. Torrington," he said. "Has it occurred to you that in undertaking this thing we have been guilty of grave wrong-doing? To line our own pockets while we stayed safe at home men have gone out at the risk of their lives. We may talk of adventure—the romance of business—we may call our job by a dozen pretty names, but it analyses out at something fairly damnable when we apply the supreme test."

Mr. Torrington nodded.

"And yet what is the alternative?" he asked. "Life is only a matter of diamond cut diamond."

"It's a scavenger's job," said Cranbourne. "And you can't get away from that."

"Without conflict there would be no progress."

Cranbourne shook his head angrily.

"What right have we to control other men's destinies?" he said. "Where is the justice that puts such men as ourselves in command?"

"Opportunity does that, not justice," said Mr. Torrington slowly. "My first employment was cleaning windows. I saw a man, who was so engaged, fall from a fourth floor sill into the street. I picked him up dead, carried him into the building and I asked for his job. A nasty story isn't it?"

Cranbourne snorted.

"It covers us all," he said. "We spend our lives robbing flowers from cemeteries, keeping our souls in our trousers pockets along with the other small change. Hullo!"

Doran opened the door and announced Nugent Cassis. That meant that all over the town clocks would be striking eleven.

"Any news?" he rapped out.

"None."

"But there wouldn't be," said Cranbourne. "He promised to send a message when he was nearing home. It's time he was here." The little man was plainly agitated.

Hilbert Torrington smiled at him over the carefully arranged playing cards.

"They tell me, Cassis, your wife has been indisposed. I trust she is better."

"I really don't know," came the irritable response. "You can hardly expect——"

"These trifles so easily escape us," murmured the old man.

Nugent Cassis scowled and turned to Cranbourne.

"How's that other fellow getting on? What's his name—Altar?"

"He's holding out."

"At Laurence's house?"

"I believe so."

"You've heard from the woman lately!"

"Not lately."

"I've a doubt about that woman. She's been seen a good bit with the American. I've had them watched. Nothing would surprise me less than to hear she'd given us away."

"That's hardly likely, Cassis, since she believes it is Barraclough they've got hold of."

"Women are very tricky. I don't trust 'em! Suppose they've made it uncomfortable for Frencham Altar, what? Well it was only to be expected."

The callous practicality of tone fired Cranbourne to answer:

"Expected, yes. But one of these days if there's any justice knocking about this old world of ours we shall have to pay."

"Five thousand was the price," retorted Cassis.

It is probable there might have been a row had not Mr. Torrington intervened with the suggestion that Frencham Altar's cheque should be signed while they were waiting. Cassis obstructed the idea. He thought tomorrow would be quite soon enough. He scouted Mr. Torrington's statement that on the morrow they would have to see about Frencham Altar's release. He said that this was a matter dependant on Barraclough's return.

"Our contract with Altar terminated at eleven tonight," insisted Mr.
Torrington. "Kindly sign this cheque beneath my signature."

And very grumblingly Cassis obliged.

"We have staked a lot of money on this affair," he said.

"Yes, and not a little reputation," replied the old man.

"Don't follow your reasoning."

"I'm getting old, Cassis, reaching the age when the hereafter becomes the nearafter."

"Then I should retire from business before you waste any more money," said Cassis with surprising venom.

But Mr. Torrington did not resent the remark since he knew how nerves affect certain dispositions.

The arrival of Lord Almont Frayne, resplendent from the Opera, relieved the situation of tension. It would have taken a very practised eye to detect anxiety under the mask of bored and elegant indifference he had assumed. He apologised for being late, but had been button-holed by a fellow in the foyer who wanted to talk polo. Very disappointing evening altogether. The prima donna had sung flat and an understudy was on for Tenor's part. It was only as an after thought he mentioned the object of their meeting and he touched upon it in the lightest vein.

"Nothing doing?"

"Nothing."

"Ah! well, it's early yet. Hot ain't it? Mind if I get myself a peg?" He was crossing to the decanter when he stopped, drew an envelope from his pocket and placed it on the table before Mr. Torrington.

"What do you make of that?" he asked. "Came early this morning, no post mark—nothing—just slipped through the box."

Hilbert Torrington took from the envelope a single flower pressed almost flat. It was a dog rose.

"Odd," he muttered, "distinctly odd." He weighed the flower in his hand and sniffed the envelope critically. It had no scent. "You have no one, Almont—I mean, there isn't anyone who'd be likely to—Well, you're a young man."

"Oh, Lord! no, nothing of that kind."

And Almont's inflection suggested that the very idea of such a thing caused him pain.

Hilbert Torrington pursed his lips and stared at the ceiling.

"What does a dog rose suggest to you, Cassis?"

"A silly interruption," replied that gentleman sourly.

"Yes, yes, but was there not—dear me, it's so long ago I've almost forgotten—was there not some floral Lingua Franca—Ah! the language of flowers."

Cassis snorted, but Cranbourne was at the book shelves in an instant.

"It's printed at the back of dictionaries," he said. "Here's one!" He
took out a volume and turned over the pages as he spoke. "This is it.
Rose—Love. Yellow rose—jealousy. White rose—I am worthy of you.
Dog rose—Hope."

"Hope," repeated Mr. Torrington.

Lord Almont struck the table and sprang to his feet.

"By God!" he cried. "Barraclough's going to win through."

In the midst of a babel of tongues the telephone rang imperatively.
Mr. Torrington picked up the receiver.

"Yes, yes," he said. "Who? You are speaking for Mr. Van Diest."

The three other men came instantly to attention and exchanged glances.
There was a pause. Then Mr. Torrington said:

"Indeed! Oh, very well—delightful," and he replaced the receiver.

"What's happened?" Almont demanded.

"I don't entirely know. But it appears that Van Diest and his amiable colleague Hipps, are shortly paying us a visit—here."

There was a moment of consternation.

"But Good Lord!" exclaimed Cranbourne. "That may mean anything."

Nugent Cassis threw up his hands desperately. Every vestige of his quiet business habit had vanished and instead he was a nerve-racked exasperated man who paced up and down jerking out half sentences, reproaches and forecasts of failure.

"It's that fellow Frencham Altar given us away. Damn stupid introducing the type—man on a bench—Means ruin to the lot of us. Coming here are they? Refuse to see them. I knew there'd be a break down somewhere—felt it in my joints—If everything had gone according to schedule, Barraclough would have been back by now—Punctual man—reliable——"

"Big stakes involve big risks," said Mr. Torrington sweetly.

"And haven't we taken them?" Cassis barked. "Good Heavens alive! why—What's that?"

There was a murmur of voices in the hall, the room door was thrown open, and Isabel Irish came in breathlessly. She threw a quick glance round the circle of faces as though seeking someone.

"Where is he? Where's Tony? It's after eleven—half past—Why isn't he here?"

Mr. Torrington rose and offered a chair, which she refused with a gesture.

"We are waiting, my dear."

"But why isn't he here?" she repeated.

"How can we possibly say?" ejaculated Cassis testily. "In a venture of this kind——"

She caught up the word "venture" and threw it back at him.

"No message, nothing."

Cranbourne was about to answer, but Torrington interrupted him to tell her of the dog rose Lord Almont had received.

"That was from him—that was from Tony," she cried. "I gave him a spray of them on the night he started."

"That's encouraging," said Lord Almont.

But Cassis was not in a mood to be encouraged.

"It may mean much or little," he snorted. "Still, there is nothing to prevent our hoping."

Of all worldly trials, waiting is the severest, and tatters the nerves quicker than any other. Isabel Irish did not like Nugent Cassis—he belonged to the money people who had no real existence in her reckoning—but ordinarily speaking she would never have lashed out at him with such vehemence. The fire in her voice and eyes entirely robbed the little man of power to retort. Nor was the tirade she uttered levelled at him alone, everyone present came in for a share. One small girl with a shock of curly hair whipping with scorpions the heads of a mighty financial concern.

"Hoping he'll get through with the cash," she said, "so that you can have money and more money and then more money. That's all he counts for to you—a machine to fill your pockets—— Doesn't matter if he gets broken throwing out the coins, wouldn't matter if he never came back at all so long as the concession came safely to hand. Oh! it makes me sick—it makes me sick." Her voice broke, but she forced the tears back by sheer strength of will. "He may be dead—anything may have happened to him—— And you could have prevented it all, sent an army to protect him. But no, that wouldn't do—too conspicuous—other people might find out—profits might have to be divided—so all you can do is to sit in a circle waiting—waiting—like a dog with a biscuit on its nose for the words 'Paid for, paid for.'"

And having emptied out her soul's measure of resentment she threw herself onto the sofa and sobbed and sobbed with her curly head in Mr. Torrington's lap.

No one spoke, not even when Doran came in and whispered that Van Diest and Hipps had arrived and demanded audience. It was Cranbourne who came forward and picking her up in his arms like an injured child carried her into the other room and laid her on Barraclough's bed.

"We haven't lost yet, my dear," he said, and stroked her forehead.

He left her crying gently on the pillow, her little pink cheeks all shiny with tears.

Mr. Torrington waited for Cranbourne to return before giving Doran instructions to show in the gentlemen. To Cassis' unspoken protest he replied:

"They evidently have some information which we lack. It would be wise to find out what it is."

Ezra P. Hipps was first to enter. He came in like a triumphant army occupying captured territory. Close upon his heels was Hugo Van Diest, smiling ingratiatingly and bowing to the company. Hilbert Torrington rose and returned the courtesy.

"An unexpected pleasure, gentlemen. And what precisely do you want?"

"I guess it's a talk to the man who shoots the bull in the ring," Hipps replied, and added: "That substitute trick has exploded and the chap who pulled it has done a guy."

Mr. Torrington and Cranbourne exchanged glances.

"Am I to understand that Mr. Frencham Altar has found your hospitality too oppressive?" he asked.

"Put it how you like, but that's a side show," came the answer. "We're here on business."

Nugent Cassis had recovered some of his self-possession and remarked crisply:

"We are very busy, Mr. Hipps."

"And since the light came into the temple, Nugent Cassis, we've been busy ourselves. Struck me one or two little matters need adjusting."

"Your treatment of the substitute for example," said Cranbourne.

"Not unlikely, but that job'll keep, and it's in hand already under
Laurence."

"Dear me, we are being very frank, are we not?" murmured Mr. Torrington.

"Gentlemen, it's come to our ears that a certain Mr. Barraclough is taking grave risks tonight to get home."

Cranbourne flashed an eye at the bedroom door. "Go on!" he said.
"Talk straight, man."

Hilbert Torrington held up a hand.

"One minute," he suggested. "I imagine Mr. Hipps is reluctant to speak out before so many witnesses. It would be better perhaps if Mr. Van Diest and myself discussed this matter in private. Is everyone agreeable?"

There was some small demur, but it was finally agreed upon. The others went out into the hall, leaving Mr. Torrington and Van Diest alone.

They were both very smiling and scrupulously polite, but the air of the room seemed to crackle with stored electricity. The Dutchman was given a chair by the writing table and cigarettes were placed at his elbow. Indeed, every social amenity was observed before Hilbert Torrington fired the first round.

"Let us assume, Van Diest, that we are neither of us honourable men."

Van Diest took quite a long time lighting a cigarette before replying.

"You don't mind if I smoke?"

"It's an admirable sedative for conscience and nerves alike. Wouldn't you prefer a cigar of Barraclough's?"

"Ach! it wass of this young man I wass about to speak."

"I had almost guessed it," said Mr. Torrington, and picking up the patience cards began to lay them out in little packs.

"It is said he iss on the road tonight—wass seen by a man who hass done some works for me."

"Indeed! That must have surprised you very much. After cherishing the belief that he was snugly accommodated at Laurence's house."

Van Diest acknowledged this thrust gracefully.

"A clever idea thiss substitute—a nice fellow too—vonderful determination."

"Hm! Careless of you to lose him."

"Mislay, my friend. I do not know thiss verb to lose."

"So you come to me for instruction? Ah well, it's never too late to learn."

For the first time Van Diest scowled, but quickly controlled his features and waved a hand over the cards.

"You tell your fortune, eh?"

"Dear me, no! I can wait for that to develop. A mere game of patience, nothing more."

"There are times, Mr. Torrington, when action is of more value than patience."

"I treasure your opinion," came the smiling rejoinder. "What was it you were saying? A man of yours saw Barraclough? Was that all he did?"

"Not a very smart man that."

"But you've others—smarter?"

"Mus' not let ourselves be beat, y'know."

"So galling isn't it?"

"I haf no experience," retorted Van Diest, and rising crossed to a canary cage in the window where, to Mr. Torrington's silent indignation, he spent quite a long while whistling and saying "Sweet sweet" to the little inmate.

"But what if you are beaten already, Van Diest? Anthony Barraclough is on his way home presumably with the concession in his pocket."

"But he hass not yet arrifed, eh? Dicky, eh? Oh, this poor little one he will miss his master. So the poor—the poor—Sweet! Sweet!"

Mr. Torrington frowned and placing a piece of sugar from the saucer of his coffee cup in a spoon held it out at arm's length.

"Present this sugar to your feathered friend with my compliments," said he. "And ask him to excuse you for a moment."

Hugo Van Diest returned to the table wreathed in smiles.

"So you wish to talk. Proceed."

"If Barraclough has the concession what have you to gain?" The banter had died out of the old man's voice.

"There wass millions of concessions never taken up. S'pose thiss one is lost, eh? Who will be the wiser?"

"I see. Dog in the Manger?"

"We lock the stable door before the horse arrife that is all."

"And how far have you decided to go—all the way?"

Van Diest appeared to deliberate before answering.

"Accidents, you know, they will happen. These boys wass ver' reckless.
With all these motors and trains life is risky, the streets too, are
dangerous. You never know with these boys." He stopped as Hilbert
Torrington drew the telephone toward him. "What are you going to do?"

"Ring up the Police, my friend. You will be charged with conspiracy and intent to murder."

Van Diest's little eyes glittered threateningly. "By the time the Police arrife it will be too late," said he. "Put down that telephone. I wass not so easily frightened." His voice pitched up and seemed suddenly to catch fire. He rose to his feet and beat the table with both hands. "You fool, thiss wass business, business, business, the meaning, the motive of my whole life, and if you think I give way at the threat of a rope you don't know Hugo Van Diest. My heart, my whole soul, I haf invest in this enterprise and I don't leave it. I don't move one inch till I haf what I want."

"Money?" thundered Mr. Torrington.

"Pounds, my friend, shillings and pence."

"And men's lives." There was a fine scorn in the old man's tone.
"Money! I hate the name of it. It turns the honour and cleanliness of
men into trashy circles of metal. To business then. What chance has
Barraclough of winning through?"

"Very small."

"Go on!"

"If you want that thiss radium company shall be floated you would haf the better chance if——"

"Well?"

"You gif to us one-third interest."

"And that represents his chances?"

Van Diest nodded unpleasantly.

"But you will understand of course, that there iss not a lot of time to lose."

"In a word you are prepared to call off your dogs for a matter of millions."

"So!"

The bedroom door was flung open and Isabel burst excitedly into the room.

"There are some horrible men watching the back of the flats," she cried. "Are they ours?"

"Perhaps you would like to answer this young lady?" asked Mr.
Torrington.

But Van Diest only shrugged his shoulders. Isabel ran to the window.

"And there—down there," she pointed to the street below, "there are more. What does it mean?"

The sound of her cries brought the others hurrying into the room.

"What is it now?" demanded Cassis.

But Hilbert Torrington was at the telephone. What he actually said sounded incomprehensible, but what it actually meant to the man who received it was an order to despatch a dozen men immediately to the doors of the flats and distribute a sprinkling over the neighbouring streets. There might be a fight, there probably would. If Barraclough were seen a body guard was to be formed at once.

Isabel was repeating her question at the window.

"Those men! Who are they? What does it mean?"

It was Cranbourne who had the honesty to reply.

"Danger!"