Curtin had ceased even to appear to struggle. He simply hung, so much dead weight, from John Bagsbury’s rigid elbow. “I don’t know whether I’ve broken your neck or not. I hope not. Come into my office. There are some things I’d like to have you tell me.” He let his arm relax, and Curtin tumbled in a heap on the floor. With an exclamation of impatience John lifted him, and half dragged, half led him down the aisle. The door of the outer office was open. When he reached the inner one, he kicked it open and thrust Curtin forward. The man went staggering across the room, until he stumbled and fell upon the cracked old leather sofa which groaned under his sudden impact. Jack Dorlin had taken Dick by the shoulders and gently pulled her out of Curtin’s zigzag course; then they stood quite still watching him as he lay there, with one hand fumbling at his throat. Dick knew that John Bagsbury was standing in the doorway. She could hear his loud, slow breathing, but she did not turn to look at him, for she guessed that the expression in his face was one that she would rather not be able to remember. He was looking at her and at Jack in a puzzled way, as though he suspected them of being merely a hallucination. Dick was the first to speak:-- “I think he is fainting. Will you get some water, Jack?” The sound of her voice brought John Bagsbury to himself again. “I did not know you were in here,” he said simply. Then, as Jack Dorlin left the room, he added: “I’m glad you were. I was pretty mad. I was--I was all right until I felt him in my hands, but that was too much for me.” Without reply she moved toward the sofa. “What are you going to do?” he asked. “To loosen his collar,” she replied laconically. “Somebody’s got to do it.” “I will,” he said, and with shaking hands he did. Curtin revived quickly when Jack Dorlin dashed the water in his face, and he sat up feebly and looked about the room. Dick turned away to the window, and in a moment Jack stepped to her side. “Why are all those people waiting out there?” she asked in an undertone. He glanced down into the street. There was, as on yesterday, a little knot of people standing about the door. “Come here and look, Mr. Bagsbury,” said Jack, quietly. It was not the angry man of five minutes ago, nor the John Bagsbury who had just been talking to Dick, nothing but the Banker who spoke to Jack Dorlin, after a glance out of the window. “I have some business to talk over with Mr. Curtin,” he said swiftly; “but I’ve no time for that just now. Will you look after him, Dorlin, until I’m at liberty again?” Without waiting for Jack to reply, he strode out of the office and shut the door behind him. “I suppose I’d better go,” said Dick. Jack was very close to her, standing between her and Curtin, and he spoke almost in a whisper: “I suppose so. I wish you were my prisoner instead of--”