house all through the long, sunny morning
seemed somnolent, almost deserted, but towards luncheon time a
motor-car arrived from the direction of the station, containing a
single passenger. About half an hour later three men came down the
shingle, stepped into the boat and paddled across towards the
tower,--Montague, Hartwell, and a brawny, thickset companion dressed
in a rather loud black-and-white check suit and a cap of the same
material. Jacob sat facing the door with his hand behind his back.
Some slices of bread and a bottle of water were pushed through the
grating, as before. Then Montague's face appeared, sleek and smiling,
with a new glitter of malevolence in the beady eyes.

"What about luncheon to-day, Jacob?" he demanded. "A small chicken pie
and a cold sirloin of beef, eh, with lettuce and tomato salad, and
half a stilton to follow. A glass or two of port with the cheese, if
you fancy it."

Jacob shook his head.

"I've done better than that," he replied. "I've had
_pate-de-foie-gras_ sandwiches and a pint of champagne. I wish you
fellows wouldn't disturb my after-luncheon nap. I'd much rather you
looked in about tea time."

Hartwell dragged his companion to one side and pressed his own
clean-shaven, pudgy face against the bars.

"Say, Jacob Pratt," he began, "just put that bluff away for a moment,
if you can. I want a word with you."

"There is nothing to prevent it," Jacob assured him. "I am an earnest
listener."

"You fancy yourself some as a boxer, don't you?" queried Hartwell.

"You ought to know what I can do," Jacob answered, with a reminiscent
smile.

Hartwell's face darkened.

"Curse you, you little pup!" he muttered. "Anyways," he went on, "you
won't be quite so flip with your tongue in half an hour's time. We've
a gentleman here from Glasgow come down to amuse you. Like to have a
look at him?"

The door was opened and closed again. The man in the black-and-white
check suit entered. Seen at close quarters, he turned out to be a very
fine specimen of the bull-necked, sandy-haired prize fighter. He came
about a yard into the place and stood grinning at Jacob.

"Like an introduction?" Hartwell continued. "Shake hands with the
Glasgow Daisy, then--Mr. Jacob Pratt."

Jacob looked the newcomer up and down.

"To what am I indebted," he asked, "for this unexpected pleasure?"

The Glasgow Daisy grinned again, until his face seemed all freckles
and flashing white teeth.

"Guv'nor," he