Another was rehearsing a plan that still, mild night. In a small room, furnished with odds and ends, sat Symington. The atmosphere was unpleasant with cigar reek and whisky fumes. Since his tremendous bout of dissipation the man had somehow failed to regain the mastery in respect of alcohol. Yet he was far from being intoxicated. Apart from the plan itself two things were especially clear to his intelligence. First, Zeniths had boomed to 8¼; second, he had less than £20 on hand. It would be necessary to convert another certificate into cash at the earliest moment possible. He was tempted to convert them all into cash at the present magnificent price; only greed to obtain yet more restrained him. “Nothing for it,” he thought, “but to travel to-morrow night, after. . . Unless—why, the thing might be done to-night! No, no! Steady! Don’t be a fool and spoil everything by rushing it! If her mind is not sufficiently prepared, and if he doesn’t look sufficiently—” Breaking off, he rang the bell at the side of the fireplace. The woman with the red, expressionless face answered the summons. “How is the lady now?” he asked curtly. “Sleeping at last, but she’s restless. I doubt she won’t sleep long.” Her pale eyes avoided his. “Though I don’t know what you may be after, Mr. Granton,” the hard mouth said slowly, “I take the liberty of warning you not to carry it too far—” “Mind your own business, and clear out. Send your man to me.” “No offence intended, but I doubt she hasn’t eaten a bite to-day,” said the woman, and went out. Her humanity was not equal to the grand wages she was getting. Symington sighed, took a drink and muttered: “Poor Kitty! Perhaps we may get it over to-night, after all.” A huge lout of a man, with a red beard and a bald head, shuffled in. “Well, how is he now?” “Not much change. Looking peaked a bit. But he made a joke when he said good night. Expect he’ll feel a goodish bit worse by to-morrow.” Symington considered. “When you go downstairs,” he said at last, “you will take away the water and give him none to-morrow.” “What? No water, Mr. Granton?” “That’s what I said.” “Oh, but surely that’s a bit—” “Are you going to obey or not?” The man lifted his shoulders. “All right, Mr. Granton, it’s no affair of mine. Only—” “Get out!” The man shuffled away. He had an ugly past known to his employer.