his cheek. "You fired me with some ambition
to see your flag at half mast. Admire your spirit and all that, but it
kind o' gets my goat being branded by a youngster. Ain't used to it.
We want that inf. o' yours and want it quick. My advice to you is,
don't monkey with our patience. It won't pay."

"If you count this as a day," Richard replied with a grin, "it's cost
me fifty thousand already."

For a moment Hipps made no reply and when at last he spoke his remark
appeared to have no bearing on the matter in hand.

"In France during the war?" he asked.

"I was."

"Awkward stuff, that poison gas."

"Very awkward."

"Beastly smell."

"Horrid."

"Makes me cry to think of it."

"But you're a born sentimentalist."

"Ah. Goodnight. Shan't be meeting again for a few days. But Laurence
here'll bring any messages."

"I shan't trouble him," said Richard.

"No? Well, that's your concern." Once again he relapsed into silence,
then very suddenly flashed out the single word "Pineapple."

Richard was accompanied up the stairs by the two silent servants. They
ushered him into a room on the top landing, bowed and retired. The
door closed with a metallic ring. He heard the sliding of a bolt, the
jingle of a chain and the sound of footsteps descending. And all of a
sudden he felt very lonely.

CHAPTER 12.

PINEAPPLE.

The room in which Richard found himself was of modest size and
unpretentious in decoration. Its walls were panelled in white and
below the fireless grate was a second door leading to a small bedroom.
There were no curtains to the windows which were closely shuttered, the
shutters themselves being made of steel plates rivetted together and
held in place by a series of dropping bars. Apparently some system of
burglar alarm had been installed, an exceptionally large electric bell
being fitted in the framing where, normally, the cornice poles would
have run. Glancing over his shoulder Richard observed the absence of a
handle to the door through which he had been admitted. A plain deal
table occupied the centre of the room, with a couple of hard upright
kitchen chairs, one on either side. There was no carpet nor any rug
upon the floor. A single unshaded electric light bulb hung from the
ceiling.

"Hospitable sort of place," he remarked and passed through to the
bedroom, the door of which was on a spring and closed behind him.

Beyond the presence of a bed of extremely uncomfort