"Gentlemen," said Mr. Torrington. "We have an important decision to make. Barraclough is on his way home, presumably with the concession in his pocket. Our opponents have made certain dispositions to prevent his safe arrival—those dispositions they are prepared to remove in consideration of a third interest."

Cassis snorted violently. Actual propinquity with danger, the clash of mind against mind had in a large measure restored his self-possession.

"Preposterous," he ejaculated.

Hilbert Torrington continued.

"It rests with us to decide whether or no we will accept their terms or take a chance."

"Don't forget the chance is Barraclough," cried Cranbourne, then swinging round on Hipps, he demanded:

"What are the odds against him?"

"Steep," was the laconical rejoinder.

Cranbourne hesitated a bare second.

"Accept their terms," said he.

"In favour?"

"Of course in favour."

Nugent Cassis shook him by the sleeve.

"I am heartily opposed to their acceptance. It is absurd to suppose that Barraclough is unequal to the task we have set him."

"Against?" queried Mr. Torrington.

"Emphatically against."

When it came to Almont's turn to vote his distress of mind was pathetic. He stood alternatively on one leg and the other. He spoke of "Jolly old public school traditions." He "doubted if the dear old sportsman could endure the idea of being protected at such a cost."

"No, damn it all," he concluded. "Why should we split the prize?"

"We can't juggle with men's lives," urged Cranbourne.

"It's insanity to wilt at the last moment," said Cassis.

Up went Lord Almont's hand.

"I vote against," he said.

Rather piteously Cranbourne appealed to his chief. As Chairman of the board Hilbert Torrington's vote counted as two.

"It rests with you, sir," he said.

The old man nodded and a queer smile played round the corners of his mouth—the smile of a pranky schoolboy.

"But surely," he said. "No one will doubt the course I shall take.
One must always stand by one's colours. I accept the hazard Against."
He moved a pace or two forward and bowed to Van Diest. "Good-evening,
Gentlemen."

Until this moment no one had been conscious of Isabel's presence in the room. She had been a silent agonised spectator, controlled by the belief that the value of persons would eventually be proved higher than the value of things. But the cold blooded refusal to protect her lover at the price of a few paltry millions, appalled her beyond bearing. She ceased to be a pretty child with a shock of curly hair and was transformed into a veritable fury.

"You beasts, you brutes, you torturers!" she cried. "You'd let them kill him without lifting a hand—you—you, ohh!"

Van Diest and the American moved toward the door, but she barred the way.

"Pick up that telephone. You shall have your price."

"I can't think you command it," said Hipps.

"Can't you? Then listen. If you stop them—call off the men that are after him, you shall be told the map reference of the place where he found the radium."

There was a startled murmur from the company.

"He may have failed to get the concession. If that were so you'd have an equal chance. Will you call them off if I give you that?"

"But you can't, my dear," said Torrington gently.

"And even if you could, you mustn't," snapped Cassis.

"Mustn't!" There was something magnificent in her scorn. "Why I'd wreck the whole crowd of you for one sight of him. Here you——" and she swung round on Ezra Hipps. "Write this down."

"Bluff," said he.

"D'you think I'd let the man I love carry a secret I didn't share?
Write this down."

It was Van Diest who stepped forward with "I take her word. Go on."

"Brewster's Series 19," cried Isabel. "Map 24."

Instantly a condition of chaos ruled. Cassis cried to her to stop "for Heaven's sake." Someone else exclaimed "That European." "It covers the northern area of——" and "Go on. Go on." Hipps was shouting. To concentrate in the midst of such a din was almost impossible. She covered her cars, closed her eyes, to force memory of the words and the numerals that were to follow. "Square F. North 27. West 33."

"She's there," cried Hipps, and whipped out a pistol to cover Cassis who was making for the telephone.

"No you don't. Stand away." He picked up the instrument and gave a number. "That Phillips? Clear all roads."

It was all that Isabel wanted to hear, just those three words which meant one man's safety at the possible price of a mighty fortune. It meant nothing to her that the American was calling for "My man with a suitcase at Charing Cross straight away. I hit this trail myself." She was not even conscious of a medley of voices in the street below—a series of cries and shouts—the blast of a police whistle. All this was without meaning. Consciousness was slipping away and had almost deserted her when the door was flung open and Anthony Barraclough burst into the room. He stood an instant, chest out and with eyes feverishly bright.

"Sorry I'm late, gentlemen, but I've done the trick—this packet——" he rocked a little. "By Gad, I believe I'm going to faint." He tottered forward into Isabel's arms and said—"It's you—how ripping!" That was all.

Cassis pushed forward with the words:

"Has he got it—has he got it?"

"This is what you want, I suppose," said Isabel, and taking the letter case from his pocket, threw it on the table. "He's fainted. Help me get him to his bed."

Doran and she half carried and half dragged him from the room.

No one was aware of Auriole, who had entered just behind and stood now with her back to the wall, biting her lip. After all, when a game is won, pawns are relatively of little importance—except to themselves.

"Signed? Registered?" said Van Diest, edging forward.

Nugent Cassis held the crackling document before his eyes—a Concession to Millions—and he answered between his teeth:

"Signed and registered."

"So," said Van Diest, with unexpected control, "we lose—Finish." But his hands trembled as he turned away.

Ezra P. Hipps did not desert his post at the telephone until he heard those words. Then he snapped viciously,

"Say, cancel those orders, Phillips—Wash out the lot."

It was too ridiculous at such a moment to contemplate the price of victory, but that is precisely what Auriole did.

"And you've never asked—never given a thought to the real man—the man who made it possible—who stayed out there on the road while——" She bit back her tears and turned savagely on Hipps and Van Diest. "Oh, God," she cried, "if anything has happened to him."

But nothing had—if you discount a little discomfort bravely borne. He walked into the room even as she spoke. Dirty he was, dishevelled and hollow-eyed, a very travesty of his former self. But there was a spring in his bearing that fires of adversity had failed to rob of its temper. He entered with a swing, a certain jauntiness—a dash of nonchaloir—pushing his way through the group of astonished financiers in the doorway and marching up to Van Diest and the American with a very fine air of "you be damned" about the carriage of his head.

"Get out," he said, uncompromisingly. "And tomorrow morning I'm coming down to Charing Cross to see you off by the Continental."

They both addressed him simultaneously and in very different tones to the ones he had grown accustomed to during the past three weeks. The word "cheque" figured largely in their proposals. Richard Frencham Altar cut them short with:

"Cheque from you? No, thanks. I'll take the smallest coin in each of your countries to wear on my watch chain. It'll remind me of my dealings with two millionaires. That train goes at ten tomorrow morning."

Ezra P. Hipps happened to see the light in Auriole's eyes as he and Van Diest moved toward the door. It was quite unmistakable and from his point of view, conclusive. He said nothing, however, and they passed out in silence.

It is probable that Hilbert Torrington also read a meaning in the girl's eyes for he was very active in marshalling his forces for departure.

"I think, gentlemen," he said, "we might meet tomorrow to discuss our obligation to Mr. Frencham Altar—an obligation by no means covered by the small arrangement we made with him." He grasped Richard warmly by the hand and there was moisture at the corners of his eyes. "What a splendid boy you are," he said. "Lord, but youth and adventure is a wonderful partnership, with a dash of romance thrown in as a prize. It's been a great game—hasn't it? A real tough fight. Great fun. Good night."

Even Cassis had something nice to say before they took their leave and left the man and the girl together.

Then Richard looked at Auriole and grinned, perhaps because her expression was so desperately serious.

"Couldn't you smile at a chap?" he asked.

She wrapped her cloak around her.

"You don't understand," she said. "Everything seems good to you at the moment—even me."

He shook his head whimsically.

"Don't say me that piece," he begged. "It sounds horrid. Where are you going?"

"I don't belong here," she answered.

"For that matter, neither do I, but I dare say I could extend my lease for another half hour—even though it did expire at eleven o'clock."

She came down and faced him.

"Listen," she said. "I don't want to be a nuisance to you and I won't be."

"You will be if you keep going to that door."

"I don't even know your name, but if you look at me like that, with laughter in your eyes—if you play the fool at such a time as this—how can I possibly keep my resolve."

"What resolve?"

"To go away and never come back."

"Come here," said Richard Frencham Altar, "come here at once."

"Oh, please," she pleaded. "Honestly, my dear, I'm not up to much and
I know you are going to think I am. Oh, what are you going to do?"

This because his arms had gone round her and he had raised her chin to the level of his own.

"I'm going to start on the greatest adventure of all," he answered.