ichard's mouth and
threw it into the grate.

A dull red surged over Richard's face as he sprang to his feet.

"I warn you----" he began, then checked himself at the sudden memory of
Cranbourne's words. He was not allowed to put up a fight.

"Well, what?"

"Oh, nothing. I've neither the mood nor the patience to teach you
manners."

His hand went out to take another cigarette from a silver box at his
side.

"No smoking," repeated Hipps in a level voice.

"Don't be asinine, my good fool."

His extended hand trembled, yearning to knot itself into a fist. The
silver box was just beyond the American's reach but seizing a small
glass jug he threw the contents over Richard's hand, drenching the
cigarette he had picked up and half filling the box with water. The
quickness and effrontery of the action, its insolent disregard of all
the laws of courtesy acted on Richard's temper as a spark on gun cotton.

"I'm damned if I'll stand for that," he shouted and kicking his chair
out of the way made a dash round the table toward Hipps. It was
Laurence who shot out the leg that tripped him and before he could
scramble to his feet both the American and the Englishman were sitting
on his back.

"Steady, steady, old chap," Laurence beseeched him. "It's an almighty
pity to start this way."

Hipps' long fingers had closed scientifically on the back of Richard's
neck and were paralysing the movements of his head. His nose was
pressed good and hard into the pile of the carpet. It was all very
painful.

"Are you going to quit fighting, Anthony?"

After all there was no particular value in adding to one's discomfort.
They were three to one and in a locked room with reinforcements
outside. Moreover, had there been a chance of requitals or escape he
was under orders to accept neither. But in his existing state of
indignation Richard could not induce himself to acknowledge defeat.
The fighting strain in his nature could only be satisfied by getting in
at least one substantial return for the indignity put upon him.

He was lying near to the grate, his head having narrowly missed the
fender rail in the fall. His right hand, which was free, lay across
Dutch tiling within easy reach of the open fire from which was
projecting conveniently a blazing log. The end nearest him was as yet
untouched by the flames and, without considering consequences, Richard
dragged it out of the fire and viciously thrust it upward. More by
lu