As for Bellward, he had dropped on to a sofa, a
loose mass, exhausted but missing nothing of what was going
forward, though, for the moment, he seemed too spent to take any
active part in the proceedings. In the meantime Strangwise, his
white, even teeth bared in a quiet smile, was very steadily
looking at his prisoner.
"Well, Desmond," he said at last, "here's a pleasant surprise! I
thought you were dead!"
Desmond said nothing. He was not a coward as men go; but he was
feeling horribly afraid just then. The deviltry of the scene he
had just witnessed had fairly unmanned him. The red and black
setting of the room had a suggestion of Oriental cruelty in its
very garishness. Desmond looked from Strangwise, cool and
smiling, to Bellward, gross and beastly, and from the two men to
Barbara, wan and still and defenceless. And he was afraid.
Then Bellward scrambled clumsily to his feet, plucking a revolver
from his inside pocket as he did so.
"You sneaking rascal," he snarled, "we'll teach you to play your
dirty tricks on us!"
He raised the pistol; but Strangwise stepped between the man and
his victim.
"Kill him!" cried Bellward, "and let's be rid of him once and for
all!"
"What" said Strangwise. "Kill Desmond? Ah, no, my friend, I don't
think so!"
And he added drily:
"At least not quite yet!"
"But you must be mad," exclaimed Bellward, toying impatiently
with his weapon, "you let him escape through your fingers before!
I know his type.
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