s
had taken place. Minute waited until the servant had gone and the door
was closed, and then he said:

"Now, Crawley, there's no sense in coming to me; I can do nothing for
you."

The sergeant put his helmet on the table, walked to a sideboard where a
tray and decanter stood, and poured himself out a stiff dose of whisky
without invitation. John Minute watched him without any great
resentment. This was not civilized Eastbourne they were in. They were
back in the old free-and-easy days of Gwelo, where men did not expect
invitations to drink.

Smith--or Crawley, to give him his real name--tossed down half a tumbler
of neat whisky and turned, wiping his heavy mustache with the back of
his hand.

"So you can't do anything, can't you?" he mimicked. "Well, I'm going to
show you that you can, and that you will!"

He put up his hand to check the words on John Minute's lips.

"There's no sense in your putting that rough stuff over me about your
being able to send me to jail, because you wouldn't do it. It doesn't
suit your book, John Minute, to go into the court and testify against
me. Too many things would come out in the witness box, and you well know
it--besides, Rhodesia is a long way off!"

"I know a place which isn't so far distant," said the other, looking up
from his chair--"a place called Felixstowe, for example. There's another
place called Cromer. I've been in consultation with a gentleman you may
have heard of, a Mr. Saul Arthur Mann."

"Saul Arthur Mann," repeated the other slowly. "I've never heard of
him."

"You would not, but he has heard of you," said John Minute calmly. "The
fact is, Crawley, there's a big bad record against you, between your
serious crimes in Rhodesia and your blackmail of to-day. I've a few
facts about you which will interest you. I know the date you came to
this country, which I didn't know before, and I know how you earned your
living until you found me. I know of some shares in a non-existent
Rhodesian mine which you sold to a feeble-minded gentleman at Cromer,
and to a lady, equally feeble-minded, at Felixstowe. I've not only got
the shares you sold, with your signature as a director, but I have
letters and receipts signed by you. It has cost me a lot of money to get
them, but it was well worth it."

Crawley's face was livid. He took a step toward the other, but recoiled,
for at the first hint of danger John Minute had pulled the revolver he
invariably carried.

"Keep jus