t and be damned," came strongly from the stateroom. "The door is
unlocked. If you put a foot inside this room, I'll shoot you like a
dog."

"You will have the satisfaction of killing a mighty good dog," said
Percival, and threw the door wide open. He did not enter the room,
however. Standing just outside the door, he faced the banker. Landover
stood in the centre of the luxurious cabin, a revolver in his hand.

"I mean exactly what I say, Percival. I will shoot the instant you put a
foot through that door."

"I don't believe you would," said Percival, "but, just the same, I'm not
going to chance it. If I ever conclude to commit suicide, I'll go off
somewhere and blow my brains out with my own gun. At present, I have no
thought of committing suicide, so I'll stay right where I am. I didn't
come here to kill you, Mr. Landover. I have no gun with me. I simply
came to tell you that the last boat is leaving, and we are waiting for
you."

For many seconds the two men looked straight into each other's eyes.

"Are you coming?" demanded the young man levelly.

"Certainly not!"

Percival's shoulders sagged. His face wore an expression of complete
surrender.

"Well,--if you won't, I suppose you won't," he muttered.

A triumphant sneer greeted this abject back-down on the part of the
would-be dictator.

"I thought so," exclaimed Landover. "You're yellow. You can bully these
poor, ignorant--"

He never finished the sentence. Percival cleared the eight or nine feet
of intervening space with the lunge of a panther. His solid, compact
body struck Landover with the force of a battering ram. Before the
larger and heavier man could fire a shot, his wrist was caught in a
grip of steel. As he staggered back under the impact, Percival's right
fore-arm was jammed up under his chin. In the fraction of a second,
Landover, unable to withstand this sudden, savage onslaught, toppled
over backwards and, with his assailant clinging to him like a wildcat,
found himself pinned down to the spacious, inset washstand.

The revolver was discharged, the bullet burying itself in the floor. An
instant later the weapon fell from his paralysed fingers. With his free
left hand he struck wildly, frantically at Percival, but with no effect.
The broad back and shoulders of his assailant proved a barrier he could
not drive past. And that rigid, merciless right arm, as hard as a bar of
steel, was pressing relentlessly against his throat, crushing, cho