nderstand. It is too soon for this sort of thing. You are not
beaten yet."

"I am tired," his visitor muttered. "May I sit down?"

"You are an unwelcome guest," Wingate replied coldly, "but sit if you
will. Then say what you have to say and go."

Phipps sank into an easy-chair. It was obvious that he was telling the
truth so far as regarded his fatigue. He seemed to have aged ten years.

"I have been down below in Stanley's rooms," he explained, "been through
his papers. It's true what the inspector fellow reports. There isn't a
scrap of evidence of any complication in his life. There isn't a shadow
of doubt in my mind as to the cause of his disappearance."

"Indeed!" Wingate murmured.

"It's a villainous plot, engineered by you!" Phipps continued, his
voice shaking. "I'm fond of the boy. That's why I've come to you. Name
your terms."

Wingate indulged in a curious bout of silence. He took a pipe from a
rack, filled it leisurely with tobacco, lit it and smoked for several
moments. Then he turned towards his unwelcome companion.

"I am debarred by a promise made to myself," he said coldly, "from
offering you any form of hospitality. If you wish to smoke, I shall not
interfere."

Phipps shook his head.

"I have not smoked all the evening," he confessed, "I cannot. You are
right when you say that we are not beaten, but I like to look ahead. I
want to know your terms."

"You are anxious about your nephew?"

"Yes!"

"And why do you connect me with his disappearance?"

Phipps gave a little weary gesture.

"I am so sick of words," he said.

"We will argue the matter, then," conceded Wingate, "from your point of
view. Supposing that your nephew has been abducted and is held at the
present moment as a hostage. It would be, without doubt, by some person
or persons who resented the brutality, the dishonesty, the foul
commercial methods of the company with which he was connected. An
amendment of those methods might produce his release."

"And that amendment?"

Wingate picked up a newspaper and glanced at it, pulled a heavy gold
pencil from his chain and made a few calculations.

"Your operations in wheat," he said, "have brought the loaf which should
cost the working man a matter of sevenpence up to two shillings. You seem
to have dabbled in a good many other products, too, the price of which
you have forced up into the clouds,--just those products which are
necessary to the working man. But we will leave t