"Put it that way, if you like," returned Storm icily. "It happens to satisfy what conscience I've got. And since I hold the whip hand, what I say goes!" The effrontery of his manner passed over the heads of his hearers. They were becoming inured to it. His crisp, self-possessed manner had ladled them out such a succession of incredible blows that their senses were growing numb. He coolly usurped the position of dictator, when all the time he was at their mercy--domineered, bullied, insulted, mocked them until their wrath towered over him in great boiling waves. And through it all he smiled serenely, punching home the facts he had to deliver with the efficient force of a piledriver. He didn't play his part as by rights an unarmed prisoner should have played it--didn't give a hoot for the superiority of their position--didn't give a damn for their spleen. One might have thought he had the entire British Army drawn up in a hollow square round the house in Buckingham Gate, just waiting to rush in if anybody started rough-housing. Storm was his nickname, and now they had some idea how he had earned it. He was Storm. It didn't count with him that several unpleasantly large hornet's nests were jazzing round his ears. He played out his lone hand with a blithe confidence they couldn't cope with. And he had got under Morini's skin. "You've got to give him his, Chief," snapped Gat. "He said the instructions to the bulls won't be opened till midnight--that gives us more than twelve hours to make our getaway. We can go down to one of the Channel seaside places and go off in small boats. We ought to be able to make the French coast. It's risky, but it's been done before. He may be your son, but you needn't see him shot. I'll do it. You can't cling on to that stunt of locking him away--he knows too much." "You said it!" murmured Storm. "And I know a whole lot more than I've spilled this morning. Shall I go on? If you'd like another dose, you're welcome! You moron! Hear me, Gat! Don't you think I'd seen that getaway scheme years before it ever penetrated your maggoty skull? Keep on hoping! Why, you cheap C3 cretin, by this time the whole Channel Squadron and the North Sea Fleet are ranging up and down looking for just such an easy getaway. Think again, Gat, and think fast!" "I'll give you my answer, Captain Arden," said Surcon. "Morini, bring Miss Hawthorne here." As the door closed, Storm sized up his father. Surcon seemed to bulk bigger than ever, huddled up in that ornate throne; and Storm knew that, immensely strong as he was, he would stand no chance against such a giant of a man. Surcon must have read his thoughts, for a bitter smile touched the thin lips. "No hope that way, Captain Arden. You get your strength from me, and the tree is bigger than the branch." Storm smiled back, and for a second a ray of humanity relieved the stern set of his face.