“And we may take it, I presume, for granted that you have not that sum, nor anything like it, at your disposal?” Sir Richard asked. “Not a fiver!” Lord Merries declared with emphasis. “We come now, Mr. Masters, to our friend Colonel Dickinson,” Sir Richard continued. “Colonel Dickinson is, perhaps, in a more favourable situation than any of us. He has a small but regular income, and he has expectations which it is not possible to mortgage fully. At the same time, it will be many years before they can--er--fructify. He is, therefore, with us in this somewhat unpleasant predicament in which we find ourselves.” “Cut it short,” Masters growled. “I’m sick of so much talk. What’s it all mean?” “It means simply this, Mr. Masters,” Sir Richard said, “we want you to take six months’ bills for our indebtedness to you.” Masters rose to his feet. His thick lips were drawn a little apart. He had the appearance of a savage and discontented animal. “So that’s why I’ve been asked here and fed up with wine and stuff, eh?” he exclaimed thickly. “Well, my answer to you is soon given. NO! I’ll take bills from no man! My terms are cash on settling day--cash to pay or cash to receive. I’ll have no other!” Sir Richard rose also to his feet. “Mr. Masters, I beg of you to be reasonable,” he said. “You will do yourself no good by adopting this attitude. Facts are facts. We haven’t got a thousand pounds between us.” “I’ve heard that sort of a tale before,” Masters answered, with a sneer. “Job Masters is too old a bird to be caught by such chaff. I’ll take my risks, gentlemen. I’ll take my risks.” He moved toward the door. No one spoke a word. The silence as he crossed the room seemed a little ominous. He looked over his shoulder. They were all three standing in their places, looking at him. A vague sense of uneasiness disturbed his equanimity. “No offence, gents,” he said, “and good afternoon!” Still no reply. He reached the door and turned the handle. The door was fast. He shook it--gently at first, and then violently. Suddenly he realized that it was locked. He turned sharply around. “What game’s this?” he exclaimed, fiercely. “Let me out!” They stood in their places without movement. There was something a little ominous in their silence. Masters was fast becoming a sober man. “Let me out of here,” he exclaimed, “or I’ll break the door down!” Sir Richard Dyson came slowly towards him. There was something in his appearance which terrified Masters. He raised his fist to strike the door. He was a fighting man, but he felt a sudden sense of impotence. “Mr. Masters,” Sir Richard said suavely, “the truth is that we cannot afford to let you go--unless you agree to do what we have asked. You see we really have not the money or any way of raising it--and the inconvenience of being posted you have yourself very ably pointed out. Change your mind, Mr. Masters. Take those bills. We’ll do our best to meet them.”