ted conversation rather daunted him, although he decided that
after all Silver was but a feeble creature who could be easily managed.
What Freddy forgot was that he lacked pluck himself, and that Silver,
driven into a corner, might fight with the courage of despair. The sight
of the secretary's deadly white and terrified face as he opened the door
sufficient to peer out showed that he was at bay.

"If you come in I'll shoot," he quavered, brokenly. "I'll--I'll brain
you with the poker. I'll throw hot water on you, and--and scratch out
your--your--"

"Come, come," said Garvington, boldly. "It's only me--a friend!"

Silver recognized the voice and the dumpy figure of his visitor. At once
he dragged him into the passage and barred the door quickly, breathing
hard meanwhile. "I don't mind you," he giggled, hysterically. "You're in
the same boat with me, my lord. But I fancied when you knocked that the
police--the police"--his voice died weakly in his throat: he cast a wild
glance around and touched his neck uneasily as though he already felt
the hangman's rope encircling it.

Garvington did not approve of this grim pantomime, and swore. "I'm quite
alone, damn you," he said roughly. "It's all right, so far!" He sat down
and loosened his overcoat, for the place was like a Turkish bath for
heat. "I want a drink. You've been priming yourself, I see," and he
pointed to a decanter of port wine and a bottle of brandy which were on
the table along with a tray of glasses. "Silly ass you are to mix."

"I'm--I'm--keeping up my--my spirits," giggled Silver, wholly unnerved,
and pouring out the brandy with a shaking hand. "There you are, my lord.
There's water, but no soda."

"Keeping up your spirits by pouring spirits down," said Garvington,
venturing on a weak joke. "You're in a state of siege, too."

Silver certainly was. He had bolted the shutters, and had piled
furniture against the two windows of the room. On the table beside the
decanter and bottles of brandy, lay a poker, a heavy club which Lambert
had brought from Africa, and had left behind when he gave up the
cottage, a revolver loaded in all six chambers, and a large bread knife.
Apparently the man was in a dangerous state of despair and was ready to
give the officers of the law a hostile welcome when they came to arrest
him. He touched the various weapons feverishly.

"I'll give them beans," he said, looking fearfully from right to left.
"Every door is locked; every