He fell back a pace beating the air impotently and whining. The door opened and Blayney and Parker, the two men servants, entered. Parker placed a tray on the table, then returned to stand in the open doorway. Blayney, ignoring Richard's presence, replaced the shutter bar in its old position and the bell stopped ringing. Then he turned and said: "I shouldn't advise you, to try the window, sir. There's a strong electric current passes through the catch." "Thank you," said Richard and slouched despondently toward the table where his glance fell upon the tray. Whatever victuals had been provided were concealed beneath a small silver cover but there was a napkin, a knife and fork and a cruet. On the whole it looked rather promising. Then suddenly he noticed that the glass beside the plate contained barely an inch of water. "I say," he exclaimed, "look! Can't I have a jog of water? There isn't----" "Not today, sir," said Blayney. The very courtesy of the man was an incentive to fury. "Yes, but----" "Not today, sir." Parker in the doorway grinned. "Don't smirk at me, blast you," said Richard. Blayney nodded toward the bedroom and changed places with his companion. When Parker came out he was carrying a great pile of bedclothes. "Here, what are you doing? Put 'em down. D'you hear me?" "My orders were to take them away, sir." As Laurence had said it was useless to fight against present odds. Richard shut his teeth tight. "Obey your orders," he said, but as the door was closing the craving for drink mastered his pride. "For God's sake," he cried, "for God's sake give me some more water. I'll give you twenty for a jug of water--honest I will--twenty----" Blayney laid a finger to his lips and went out. The gesture might have meant anything. With trembling hand Richard seized the glass of water and drained it at a gulp. There was miserably little--it barely cooled the heat of his throat. Whimpering he set the glass down and lifted the cover from the plate. Underneath was a cube of bread the size of a lump of sugar. With a savage cry he picked it up and flung it across the room but a moment later was on all fours gathering up the broken bits and pieces and eating them wolfishly. Blayney found him searching pathetically for the last crumb when he came stealthily into the room and put a tin mug on the table. "I'll collect that twenty later," he said and vanished. Almost like a miser Richard took the mug in his hands and purred over it possessively. With a sigh of absolute content he raised it to his lips. Then a scream broke from him--harsh, strident, savage. There were no soft spots in the walls of Hugo Van Diest's fortress. The water was salt. CHAPTER 19. AT THE CHESTNUTS.