hing can alter my decision now, Storch... You should have known
better than to have counted on one of my sort...In the end, you see,
my standards _have_ shackled me."

"Counted on your sort!" Storch laughed back, sarcastically. "Do you
suppose for one moment that I ever count on anyone?... I like a game
of chance ... that's why I chose you. I like to triumph in spite of a
poor hand ... and you have been in some ways the poorest deal I've
ever risked a play on. But if I'd gotten you I'd have chuckled to my
dying day ... even in spite of the fact that it would have shattered
all my theories. I catch my fish upon the lowest and highest tides ...
slack water never yields much."

He was rising to his feet. His face was a placid mask, but his voice
dripped venom. Fred matched his movements with equal quiet.

"Still you did have hopes for me," Fred threw at him in grim raillery.
"I may have been the poorest prospect, but I have been the most
uncertain also... You might just as well admit that."

He saw Storch's eyes widen at the arrogance of this unexpected thrust.

"Slack water is always uncertain," Storch replied, "unless you know
which turn in the tide is to follow."

They stood gazing at each other for a fraction of time, which seemed
eternity. And in that swift and yet prolonged exchange of glances Fred
Starratt read Storch's purpose completely...

There followed a moment of swift action in which Storch made a clipt
movement toward his hip pocket, and in a trice Fred Starratt felt
himself bear quickly down upon the shattered lamp, grasp it firmly in
his two hands, and bring it crashing against Storch's upflung
forehead.

He was not conscious of seeing Storch crumple over, but he felt a thud
shake the cluttered room to its foundations... He went over quietly
and closed the open door. Then he put on his hat. Storch lay quite
still and an ugly red pool was already luring flies to a crimson
feast. The floor was covered with bits of shattered glass glistening
in the sun.

Presently he opened the door again. A child had crept up to the
doorstep and sat prattling to her tattered doll. He stepped aside so
as not to disturb her, shut the door with a sharp bang, and walked
swiftly to the edge of the cliff. But this time he plunged down. He
looked back once. Not a soul followed him.

CHAPTER XXIV

He was sitting on a pile of lumber when, an hour later, his thoughts
began to run in rational channels again. Befor