odd sense of shame which puzzled him. He was not
often subject to anything of the sort.

"It belongs to you, Trent. I lost it on the square, and it's the only
social law I've never broken--to pay my gambling debts. There's one word
more!"

"Yes."

"It's about that clause in our agreement. I never thought it was quite
fair, you know, Trent!"

"Which clause?"

"The clause which--at my death--makes you sole owner of the whole
concession. You see--the odds were scarcely even, were they? It wasn't
likely anything would happen to you!"

"I planned the thing," Trent said, "and I saw it through! You did
nothing but find a bit of brass. It was only square that the odds should
be in my favour. Besides, you agreed. You signed the thing."

"But I wasn't quite well at the time," Monty faltered. "I didn't quite
understand. No, Trent, it's not quite fair. I did a bit of the work at
least, and I'm paying for it with my life!"

"What's it matter to you now?" Trent said, with unintentional brutality.
"You can't take it with you."

Monty raised himself a little. His eyes, lit with feverish fire, were
fastened upon the other man.

"There's my little girl!" he said hoarsely. "I'd like to leave her
something. If the thing turns out big, Trent, you can spare a small
share. There's a letter here! It's to my lawyers. They'll tell you all
about her."

Trent held out his hands for the letter.

"All right," he said, with sullen ungraciousness. "I'll promise
something. I won't say how much! We'll see."

"Trent, you'll keep your word," Monty begged. "I'd like her to know that
I thought of her."

"Oh, very well," Trent declared, thrusting the letter into his pocket.
"It's a bit outside our agreement, you know, but I'll see to it anyhow.
Anything else?"

Monty fell back speechless. There was a sudden change in his face.
Trent, who had seen men die before, let go his hand and turned away
without any visible emotion. Then he drew himself straight, and set his
teeth hard together.

"I'm going to get out of this," he said to himself slowly and with
fierce emphasis. "I'm not for dying and I won't die!"

He stumbled on a few steps, a little black snake crept out of its bed
of mud, and looked at him with yellow eyes protruding from its upraised
head. He kicked it savagely away--a crumpled, shapeless mass. It was a
piece of brutality typical of the man. Ahead he fancied that the air was
clearer--the fetid mists less choking--in the dee