Falconer eyed him intently, and carefully selected a fresh cigar. When

he had as carefully lit it, he said callously: "That's your business, of course. I shouldn't venture to interfere with

any plan of that kind. So you'd sneak out of it, eh, Orme? Sneak out of

it, and leave that young fellow to bear the brunt? Well, I'm sorry for

him! He seems the right sort--deuced good-looking and high-class--yes,

I'm d----d sorry for him!"

Once again Sir Stephen's lips twitched and the big drops of sweat stood

on his brow. He stood for a minute looking from right to left like a

hunted animal at bay--then with something between a groan and a cry of

savagery, he spring towards Falconer with his hands outstretched and

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making for his tormentor's throat.

Before he could sweep the table aside and get at him, Falconer whipped

a revolver from his pocket and aimed it at Sir Stephen.

"You fool!" he said in his harsh, grating voice, "did you think I was

such an idiot as to trust myself alone with you unarmed? Did you think

I'd forgotten what sort of man you were, or imagined that you'd so

changed that I could trust you? Bah! Sit down! Stand back, or, by

Heaven, I'll shoot you as I would a dog!"

Sir Stephen shrank back, his hand to his heart, his eyes distended, his

face livid as if he were choking and sank into a chair. Falconer

returned the revolver into his pocket, and with his foot pushed the

inlaid Oriental table towards his host and victim.

"There! Take some brandy! You're too old to play these tricks! That

heart of yours was never worth much in the old days, and I daresay it's

still more groggy. Besides, we're not in a mining camp or the backwoods

now." He sneered. "We're in Sir Stephen Orme's palatial villa on Lake

Bryndermere."

Sir Stephen stretched out his hand and felt for the decanter, as if he

were suddenly blind and could not see it, and poured himself out some

brandy. Falconer watched him narrowly, critically.

"Better? Look here, Orme, take my advice and keep a guard on your

emotions: you can't afford to have any with a heart like that."

He paused and waited until Sir Stephen's ashy face had resumed a less

deathly pallor.

"And now I'll answer your appeal--I don't intend to denounce you!"

Sir Stephen turned to him with a gesture of incredulity.

"Sounds strange, doesn't it? Humph! Doesn't it strike you that I've had

my revenge already? If there is a sweeter one than to see the man who

has sold you grovelling at your feet, and praying for mercy, than I

don't know it! The great Sir Stephen Orme, too!" He laughed sneeringly.

"No, if I'd meant to give you away, Orme, I should have done it

to-night in your swell drawing-room, with all your swell guests round

you, with your son--ay, and my daughter--to hear the story--the story

of Black Steve! But I didn't mean it, and I don't--"




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