“I know you would meet anything or anybody with your bare fists, sir,” Desmond pleaded, “but Clubfoot is beyond the pale. He has the profoundest contempt for our English notions of fair play and, though you may agree to this idea of his of an armistice meeting, on _his_ side you can bet your bottom dollar it’s a plant! He’s a treacherous devil, and the only way to treat him is to fall on him the moment he appears, tie him up, and lodge him as quickly and as securely as possible in the nearest jail.” “Well,” said the Chief slowly, “there may be something in what you say. But in all my career I’ve never yet refused to meet an enemy who wrote and asked, fair and square, for an interview. I shall see Grundt!” “But, sir,” urged Desmond, “look at the list of his victims since he started his campaign of vengeance against the Service—Branxe, Wetherby Soukes, Fawcett Wilbur, Törnedahl, Miss Bardale, Bewlay, Finucane! The man’s a wolf, a mad dog! He ought to be shot at sight!” The Chief’s strong face had grown very stern. “I agree. But I want _my_ sight of him. Don’t worry, Okewood. I’ve got my tally against our clubfooted friend. He’ll get no change out of me . . .” He looked at his watch. “Half-past six. He’ll be here any moment now! Away with the pair of you into the back room. If you’ll remove the map of the tube railways hanging on the partition wall you’ll find a trap which, provided you don’t turn up the light, will—ahem!—facilitate both seeing and hearing!” “Sir, once more . . .” said Desmond. The Chief shook his head. “And I haven’t even got a gun!” muttered the young man forlornly as he accompanied his brother from the room. A “buzzer” whizzed raspingly through Mr. Melchizedech’s office. Composedly the Chief rose from his chair and, crossing the outer room, opened the front door. An enormous man in a black wide-awake hat with a heavy caped ulster faced him. The visitor leaned heavily upon a crutch-handled stick. “Mr. Melchizedech?” he wheezed, for the stairs had temporarily robbed him of his breath. “That’s my name,” replied the Chief. “Please come in.” He stood back to let the stranger pass, then led the way into the inner office. “Won’t you take off your things?” he said, and, pointing to a chair, remained standing. With slow, deliberate movements the visitor slid the ulster from his shoulders and cast it with his hat on a couch. Then he turned and faced the other, and, for a full minute, the two men measured each other in silence. They were something of the same type, both of big build, both masterly and virile, with iron determination shown in the proud jut of the nose, the massive cast of the jaw.