heaven!" he gasped. "Give me--strength--not to kill this
animal!"

A startled look came into Herzog's face. He recognized, at last, the
nature of the rage he had awakened. In those twitching fists and that
white, writhen face he recognized the signs of passion that might, on a
second's notice, leap to murder. And, shot through with panic, he now
retreated, like the coward he was, though with the sneer still on his
thin and cruel lips.

"Get your time!" he commanded, with crude brutality. "Go, get it at
once. You're lucky to get off so easily. If Flint knew this, you'd land
behind bars. But we want no scenes here. Get your money from Sanderson,
and clear out. Your job ended the minute my hand touched that book in
your pocket!"

Still Armstrong made no reply. Still he remained there, dazed and
stricken, pallid as milk, a wild and terrible light in his blue eyes.

An ugly murmur rose. Two or three of his fellow-workmen had come
drifting down the shop, toward the scene of altercation. Another joined
them, and another. Not one of them but hated Herzog with a bitter
animosity. And now perhaps, the time was come to pay a score or two.

But Armstrong, suddenly lifting his head, faced them all, his comrades.
His mind, quick-acting, had realized that, now his possession of the
book had been discovered, his chances of discovering anything more, at
the works, had utterly vanished. Even though he should remain, he could
do nothing there. If he were to act, it must be from the outside, now,
following the trend of events, dogging each development, striving in
hidden, devious ways--violent ways, perhaps--to pull down this horrible
edifice of enslavement ere it should whelm and crush the world.

So, acting as quickly as he had thought, and now ignoring the man Herzog
as though he had never existed, Armstrong faced his fellows.

"It's all right, boys," said he, quite slowly, his voice seeming to
come from a distance, his tones forced and unnatural. "It's all right,
every way. I'm caught with the goods. Don't any of you butt in. Don't
mix with my trouble. For once I'm glad this is a scab shop, otherwise
there might be a strike, here, and worse Hell to pay than there will be
otherwise. I'm done. I'll get my time, and quit. But--remember one
thing, you'll understand some day what this is all about.

"I'm glad to have worked with you fellows, the past few months. You're
all right, every one of you. Good-bye, and remember--"

"Here