, you spindle-legged little cockney!"

Flint struck at him aimlessly. "I've got nerve," he muttered, "plenty of
nerve, old top! What d'you want? I'm your man; I'll go you--eh, what?"

"Go on with the game, I tell you!" bawled Carfax.

Gary swung around: "Wait till I explain----"

"No, don't wait! Keep going! Keep playing! Keep doing something, for God's
sake!"

"Will you wait!" shouted Gary. "I want to tell you----"

Carfax made a hopeless gesture: "It's talk that will do the trick for us
all----"

"I want to tell you----"

Carfax shrugged, emptied his full glass with a gesture of finality.

"Then talk, damn you! And we'll all be at each other's throats before
morning."

Gary got Gray by the elbow: "Reggie, it's this way. We flip up for cuckoo.
Whoever gets stuck takes a shot apiece from our automatics in the
legs--eh, what?"

"It's perfectly agreeable to me," assented Gray, in the mincing, elaborate
voice characteristic of him when drunk.

Flint wagged his head. "It's a sportin' game. I'm in," he said.

Gary looked at Carfax. "A shot in the dark at a man's legs. And if he gets
his--it will be Blighty in exchange for hell."

Carfax, sullen with liquor, shoved his big hand into his pocket, produced
a shilling, and tossed it.

A brighter flush stained the faces which ringed him; the risky hazard of
the affair cleared their sick minds to comprehension.

Tails turned uppermost; Flint and Gary were eliminated. It lay between
Carfax and Gray, and the older man won.

"Mind you fire low," said the young fellow, with an excited laugh, and
walked into the middle of the room.

Gary blew out the candle. Presently from somewhere in the intense darkness
Gray called "Cuckoo!" and instantly a slanting red flash lashed out
through the gloom. And, when the deafening echo had nearly ceased:
"Cuckoo!"

Another pistol crashed. And after a swimming interval they heard him
moving. "Cuckoo!" he called; a level flame stabbed the dark; something
fell, thudding through the staccato uproar of the explosion. At the same
moment the outer door opened on the crack and Carfax's orderly peeped in.

Carfax struck a match with shaky fingers; the candle guttered, sank,
flared on Flint, who was laughing without a sound. "Got the beggar, by
God!" he whispered--"through the head! Look at him. Look at Reggie Gray!
Tried for his head and got him----"

He reeled back, chuckling foolishly, and levelled at Carfax. "Now I'll get
you!" he