he rest do in such an emergency? He had never seen them in a
corner. His reverie was interrupted by a message that Manson desired
to see him.

"Riots?" said Clark to himself, then aloud, "Bring him here."

The big man came up, extending a friendly hand. Clark had a curious
dislike for physical, personal contact, even of the slightest, but now
overcame it with difficulty and motioned his visitor to a chair. The
latter sat speechless.

"Well, Mr. Manson?" Clark asked when the silence became too perceptible.

"I came to ask you if there were any prospects of trouble at the
works," said the latter presently. He spoke jerkily, and in a note far
removed from the deep boom of his usual voice.

"Why should you expect any trouble because pay day is postponed for a
week?"

Manson lifted his heavy lids. "Is it only for a week?"

Clark got up and paced the terrace, his head thrust forward, his hands
behind his back. There was that in the visitor's manner which puzzled
him. The evident agitation and discomfort, the anxious moving of the
thick arms, the constant shifting of the feet, all pointed to something
that struck deeper than the possibility of a riot. And Manson, he had
reason to know, was no coward.

"I anticipate that it will be less than a week. How many men have you?"

"Thirty, and myself."

"We have twenty guards at the works, also, if need be, there's the
local militia."

"Have you ever seen them?" said the chief constable contemptuously.

"No, but the law is behind them and a certain amount of discipline,"
then, his voice changing abruptly, "Mr. Manson, are you afraid?"

The big man stared at him as though fascinated. His dark face began to
work convulsively in an obvious attempt to voice that which disturbed
him. Clark watched it all.

"Well," he said with ill concealed impatience, "if it's not an
imaginary riot that's troubling you, I'll say good evening. I'm rather
busy at the moment."

At that Manson half lifted himself out of his chair and leaned forward.
"It's the works," he whispered huskily, "are they all going to hell?"

Clark stared at him in open astonishment. It was an absurd thing that
at this moment he should be subjected to a visit from a man who had
never believed in him, but who was now evidently torn by anxiety at the
thought of his failure. There came a swift and silent suggestion, but
the thing was too remote.

"Mr. Manson," he said slowly, "you never took any stoc