g and saying "Sweet
sweet" to the little inmate.

"But what if you are beaten already, Van Diest? Anthony Barraclough is
on his way home presumably with the concession in his pocket."

"But he hass not yet arrifed, eh? Dicky, eh? Oh, this poor little one
he will miss his master. So the poor--the poor--Sweet! Sweet!"

Mr. Torrington frowned and placing a piece of sugar from the saucer of
his coffee cup in a spoon held it out at arm's length.

"Present this sugar to your feathered friend with my compliments," said
he. "And ask him to excuse you for a moment."

Hugo Van Diest returned to the table wreathed in smiles.

"So you wish to talk. Proceed."

"If Barraclough has the concession what have you to gain?" The banter
had died out of the old man's voice.

"There wass millions of concessions never taken up. S'pose thiss one
is lost, eh? Who will be the wiser?"

"I see. Dog in the Manger?"

"We lock the stable door before the horse arrife that is all."

"And how far have you decided to go--all the way?"

Van Diest appeared to deliberate before answering.

"Accidents, you know, they will happen. These boys wass ver' reckless.
With all these motors and trains life is risky, the streets too, are
dangerous. You never know with these boys." He stopped as Hilbert
Torrington drew the telephone toward him. "What are you going to do?"

"Ring up the Police, my friend. You will be charged with conspiracy
and intent to murder."

Van Diest's little eyes glittered threateningly. "By the time the
Police arrife it will be too late," said he. "Put down that telephone.
I wass not so easily frightened." His voice pitched up and seemed
suddenly to catch fire. He rose to his feet and beat the table with
both hands. "You fool, thiss wass business, business, business, the
meaning, the motive of my whole life, and if you think I give way at
the threat of a rope you don't know Hugo Van Diest. My heart, my whole
soul, I haf invest in this enterprise and I don't leave it. I don't
move one inch till I haf what I want."

"Money?" thundered Mr. Torrington.

"Pounds, my friend, shillings and pence."

"And men's lives." There was a fine scorn in the old man's tone.
"Money! I hate the name of it. It turns the honour and cleanliness of
men into trashy circles of metal. To business then. What chance has
Barraclough of winning through?"

"Very small."

"Go on!"

"If you want that thiss radium company shal