he chair, but
she made no movement. Heyst started, and turned his face away from the
door.

The startling sound had died away.

"Whistles, yells, omens, signals, portents--what do they matter?" he
said. "But what about the crowbar? Suppose I had it! Could I stand
in ambush at the side of the door--this door--and smash the first
protruding head, scatter blood and brains over the floor, over these
walls, and then run stealthily to the other door to do the same
thing--and repeat the performance for a third time, perhaps? Could I? On
suspicion, without compunction, with a calm and determined purpose? No,
it is not in me. I date too late. Would you like to see me attempt this
thing while that mysterious prestige of mine lasts--or their not less
mysterious hesitation?"

"No, no!" she whispered ardently, as if compelled to speak by his
eyes fixed on her face. "No, it's a knife you want to defend yourself
with--to defend--there will be time--"

"And who knows if it isn't really my duty?" he began again, as if he had
not heard her disjointed words at all. "It may be--my duty to you, to
myself. For why should I put up with the humiliation of their secret
menaces? Do you know what the world would say?"

He emitted a low laugh, which struck her with terror. She would have got
up, but he stooped so low over her that she could not move without first
pushing him away.

"It would say, Lena, that I--the Swede--after luring my friend and
partner to his death from mere greed of money, have murdered these
unoffending shipwrecked strangers from sheer funk. That would be
the story whispered--perhaps shouted--certainly spread out, and
believed--and believed, my dear Lena!"

"Who would believe such awful things?"

"Perhaps you wouldn't--not at first, at any rate; but the power of
calumny grows with time. It's insidious and penetrating. It can even
destroy one's faith in oneself--dry-rot the soul."

All at once her eyes leaped to the door and remained fixed, stony, a
little enlarged. Turning his head, Heyst beheld the figure of Ricardo
framed in the doorway. For a moment none of the three moved, then,
looking from the newcomer to the girl in the chair, Heyst formulated a
sardonic introduction.

"Mr Ricardo, my dear."

Her head drooped a little. Ricardo's hand went up to his moustache. His
voice exploded in the room.

"At your service, ma'am!"

He stepped in, taking his hat off with a flourish, and dropping it
carelessly on a