ntrated contempt and fury Williams shot Henson into the road, where
he landed full on his face. His cup of humiliation was complete.

CHAPTER LVI

WHITE FANGS

Henson took his weary way in the direction of Brighton. He had but a few
pounds he could call his own, and not nearly enough to get away from the
country, and at any moment he might be arrested. He was afraid to go back
to his lodgings for fear of Merritt. That Merritt would kill him if he
got the chance he felt certain. And Merritt was one of those dogged,
patient types who can wait any time for the gratification of their
vengeance.

Merritt was pretty certain to be hanging about for his opportunity. On
the whole the best thing would be to walk straight to the Central
Brighton Station and take the first train in the morning to town. There
he could see Gates--who as yet knew nothing--and from him it would be
possible to borrow a hundred or two, and then get away. And there were
others besides Gates.

Henson trudged away for a mile or so over the downs. Then he came down
from the summit of the castle he was building with a rude shock to earth
again. A shadow seemed to rise from the ground, a heavy clutch was on his
shoulder, and a hoarse voice was in his ear.

"Got you!" the voice said. "I knew they'd kick you out yonder, and I
guessed you'd sneak home across the downs. And I've fairly copped you!"

Henson's knees knocked together. Physically he was a far stronger and
bigger man than Merritt, but he was taken unawares, and his nerves had
been sadly shaken of late.

Merritt forced him backwards until he lay on the turf with his antagonist
kneeling on his chest. He dared not struggle, he dared not exert himself.
Presently he might get a chance, and if he did it would go hard with
James Merritt.

"What are you going to do?" he gasped.

Merritt drew a big, jagged stone towards him with one foot.

"I'm going to bash your brains out with this," he said, hoarsely. His
eyes were gleaming, and in the dim light his mouth was set like a steel
trap. "I'm going to have a little chat with you first, and then down this
comes on the top of your skull, and it'll smash you like a bloomin'
eggshell. Your time's come, Henson. Say your prayers."

"I can't," Henson whined. "And what have I done?"

Merritt rocked heavily on the other's breastbone, almost stifling him.
"Wot?" he said, scoffingly. The pleasing mixture of gin and fog in his
throat rendered him more