prevent it, refuse to testify."

"Vwhat-a-t?"

Mr. Meyer grasped the back of a chair and, leaning over it, stared at
Rowland.

"You will not testify? Vwhat you mean?"

"What I said; and I do not feel called upon to give you my reasons, Mr.
Meyer."

"My good friend," said the underwriter, advancing with outstretched
hands to Rowland, who backed away, and taking Myra by the hand, moved
toward the door. Mr. Meyer sprang ahead, locked it and removed the key,
and faced them.

"Oh, mine goot Gott," he shouted, relapsing in his excitement into the
more pronounced dialect of his race; "vwhat I do to you, hey? Vwhy you
go pack on me, hey? Haf I not bay der doctor's bill? Haf I not bay for
der carriage? Haf I not treat you like one shentleman? Haf I not, hey? I
sit you down in mine office and call you Mr. Rowland. Haf I not been one
shentleman?"

"Open that door," said Rowland, quietly.

"Yes, open it," repeated Captain Barry, his puzzled face clearing at the
prospect of action on his part. "Open it or I'll kick it down."

"But you, mine friend--heard der admission of der captain--of der
drugging. One goot witness will do: two is petter. But you will swear,
mine friend, you will not ruin me."

"I stand by Rowland," said the captain, grimly. "I don't remember what
was said, anyhow; got a blamed bad memory. Get away from that door."

Grievous lamentation--weepings and wailings, and the most genuine
gnashing of teeth--interspersed with the feebler cries of the frightened
Myra and punctuated by terse commands in regard to the door, filled that
private office, to the wonder of the clerks without, and ended, at last,
with the crashing of the door from its hinges.

Captain Barry, Rowland, and Myra, followed by a parting, heart-borne
malediction from the agitated underwriter, left the office and reached
the street. The carriage that had brought them was still waiting.

"Settle inside," called the captain to the driver. "We'll take another,
Rowland."

Around the first corner they found a cab, which they entered, Captain
Barry giving the driver the direction--"Bark _Peerless_, East India
Dock."

"I think I understand the game, Rowland," he said, as they started; "you
don't want to break this child."

"That's it," answered Rowland, weakly, as he leaned back on the cushion,
faint from the excitement of the last few moments. "And as for the right
or wrong of the position I am in--why, we must go farther back for it
than