“Look here, governor,” began Massey again--he had laid his pistol on a table by his side, and waved a large red hand to give point to his remarks--“we don’t want any unpleasantness. I’ve been a good friend to you, an’ so has Jimmy. We’ve done your dirty work for years, me an’ Jimmy have, and Jimmy knows it”--turning with an ingratiating smirk to the subject of his remarks--“and now we want a bit of our own--that is all it amounts to, our own.” Old Reale looked under his shaggy eyebrows to where Jimmy sat with brooding eyes watching the fire. “So it’s a plant, eh? You’re both in it. Jimmy comes first, he being the clever one, an’ puts the lay nice an’ snug for the other feller.” Jimmy shook his head. “Wrong,” he said. He turned his head and took a long scrutiny of the newcomer, and the amused contempt of his gaze was too apparent. “Look at him!” he said at last. “Our dear Massey! Does he look the sort of person I am likely to share confidence with?” A cold passion seemed suddenly to possess him. “It’s a coincidence that brought us both together.” He rose and walked to where Massey sat, and stared down at him. There was something in the look that sent Massey’s hand wandering to his pistol. “Massey, you dog!” he began, then checked himself with a laugh and walked to the other end of the room. There was a tantalus with a soda siphon, and he poured himself a stiff portion and sent the soda fizzling into the tumbler. He held the glass to the light and looked at the old man. There was a look on the old man’s face that he remembered to have seen before. He drank his whisky and gave utterance to old Reale’s thoughts. “It’s no good, Reale, you’ve got to settle with Massey, but not the way you’re thinking. We could put him away, but we should have to put ourselves away too.” He paused. “And there’s me,” he added. “And Connor,” said Massey thickly, “and Connor’s worse than me. I’m reasonable, Reale; I’d take a fair share----” “You would, would you?” The old man was grinning again. “Well, your share’s exactly a million an’ three-quarters in solid cash, an’ a bit over two millions--all in.” He paused to notice the effect of his words. Jimmy’s calm annoyed him; Massey’s indifference was outrageous. “An’ it’s Jimmy’s share, an’ Connor’s share, an’ it’s Miss Kathleen Kent’s share.” This time the effect was better. Into Jimmy’s inexpressive face had crept a gleam of interest. “Kent?” he asked quickly. “Wasn’t that the name of the man----?” Old Reale chuckled. “The very feller, Jimmy--the man who came in to lose a tenner, an’ lost ten thousand; who came in next night to get it back, and left his lot. That’s the feller!” He rubbed his lean hands, as at the memory of some pleasant happening. “Open that cupboard, Jimmy.” He pointed to an old-fashioned walnut cabinet that stood near the door. “D’ye see anything--a thing that looks like a windmill?”