er
what you want to know," and his head fell forward into his hands.

For nearly a minute, Hipps looked at him in silence and his face was
very white indeed. Then with the breath escaping between his teeth he
turned away.

It was sheer lunacy on the part of Richard to peep through his fingers
to judge the effect of his words. For it is an established truth that
the nerves of a man's back are sensitive to another's gaze.

Ezra Hipps swung round so quickly that Richard failed to cover his face
in time. The mischief was done.

"Very clever," said the American and laughed. "Very clever and I
nearly bought it, but not quite." He seized Richard's wrist and
twisted it downward. "A word of advice against the future, Mister
Barraclough. Next time you're working a crumple-up don't let the chap
you're pulling it on see you looking at it between your fingers." He
strolled up to the door whistling pensively and halted with his hand on
the latch. "I'm doubting if you're going to be a whole lot of use to
us for you're a tough case. When it comes up at Committee my thumb
points down."

He went out and the bolt shot home behind him.

For a long while Richard rocked in his chair muttering. He felt very
lonely and his throat ached, his head ached--he ached all over--a
childish desire to snivel possessed him and could not be subdued. If
only there had been a shoulder, some sweet, kind, soft shoulder to soak
up the tired angry tears that fell and fell. A kindly shoulder, a
gentle voice to drive away the horror of these nightmare days. Was all
sweetness gone out of the world? Was the world no more than four
square walls peopled with devils who asked and asked and asked? Was
there nothing else but greed of money, hatred, want, and damnable
persecution? A voice within cried aloud: "Why suffer it all? Why bear
the brunt of other men's adventure?" Five thousand pounds. Was it a
fair price for breaking one's body against rocks, for shattering one's
soul against man unkind?

Wild uncontrollable resentment seized him and in its wave tossed him
against the door of his prison battering at the panels with bare fists
and shrieking aloud in a voice he could not recognise as his own.

"Gentlemen! Gentlemen! You've made a mistake. I'm not Bar'clough,
nev' met him. Richard Frencham Altar I am--father shot
himself--Torrington paying me five thousand--keep it up for three
weeks--but you've made the course too stiff. I can't