his
pistol. Dredlinton, from whom had come the sound, had fallen with his
head and shoulders upon the table. His face was invisible, only there
crept from his hidden lips a faint repetition of the cry,--the hideous
sob, it might have been, as of a spirit descending into hell. Then there
was silence. Phipps was sitting bolt upright, his eyes wide open,
motionless but breathing heavily. He seemed to be in a state of coma,
neither wholly asleep nor wholly conscious. Rees was leaning as far back
in his chair as his cords permitted. His patch of high colour had gone;
there was an ugly twist to his mouth, a livid tinge in his complexion,
but nevertheless he slept. Wingate rose to his feet and watched. Phipps
seemed keyed up to suffering. Dredlinton showed no sign. Their gaoler
strolled up to the table.

"There is the bread there, Phipps," he said, "a breakfast tray outside
and some coffee. How goes it?"

Phipps turned his leaden face. His eyes glowed dully.

"Go to hell!" he muttered.

Wingate returned to his place, lit and smoked a pipe and dozed off again.
When he opened his eyes, the sunlight was streaming in through a chink in
the closed curtains. He looked towards the table. Dredlinton had not
moved; Rees was crying quietly, like a child. An unhealthy-looking
perspiration had broken out on Phipps' face.

"Really," Wingate remarked, "you are all giving yourselves an unnecessary
amount of suffering."

Phipps spoke the fateful words after two ineffectual efforts. His
syllables sounded hard and detached.

"We give in," he faltered. "We sell."

"Capital!" Wingate exclaimed, rising promptly to his feet. "Come! In ten
minutes you shall be drinking coffee or wine--whichever you fancy. We
will hurry this little affair through."

He crossed the room, opened a cupboard and brought a telephone
instrument to the table.

"City 1000," he began.--"Yes!--British and Imperial--Right! Mr. Harrison
there?--Ask him to come to the 'phone, please.--Harrison? Good! Wait a
moment. Mr. Phipps will speak to you."

Wingate held the telephone before the half-unconscious man. Phipps swayed
towards it.

"Yes? That Harrison?--Mr. Phipps.--No, it's quite all right. We've been
away, Mr. Rees and I. We've decided--"

He reeled a little in his chair. Wingate poured some brandy from his
flask into the little metal cup and held it out. Phipps drank it
greedily.

"Go on now."

"We have decided," Phipps continued, "to sell wheat--to sell,