Cheyne, still at a white heat, cursed the other savagely. Lamson waited until he had finished, then went on in a smooth, almost coaxing tone: “Now do be reasonable, Mr. Cheyne. You must see that your present attitude is only wasting time for us both. Not to put too fine a point on it, the situation is this: You are there, and you can’t get out, and you can’t attract attention to your predicament—that is why the deadlights are shipped. It grieves me to say it,” Lamson smiled sardonically, “but I must tell you that you will stay there until you do what we want. In order to prevent Mrs. Cheyne becoming uneasy we shall wire her in your name that you have left for an extended trip and won’t be back for some days. ‘To Cheyne, Warren Lodge, Dartmouth. Gone for yachting cruise down French coast. Address Poste Restante, St. Nazaire. All well. Maxwell.’ You see, we know exactly how to word it. All suspicion would be lulled for some days and then,” he paused and something sinister and revolting came into his face, “then it wouldn’t matter, for it would be too late. For you see there is neither food nor drink in the cabin and we don’t propose to pass any in. You won’t get any, Mr. Cheyne, no matter how many days you remain aboard: that is,” his manner changed, “unless you are reasonable, which of course you will be. In that case no harm is done. Now won’t you hear our little proposition?” “I’ll see you in hell first,” Cheyne shouted, his rage once again overwhelming him. “You’ll pay for this, I can tell you. It’ll be the dearest trip you ever had in your life,” and he proceeded with threats and curses to demand the immediate opening of the door. Lamson, a whimsical smile curling his lips, shrugged his shoulders at the outburst, and replied by withdrawing his head from the opening and sliding the panel to. Cheyne, left once more in almost complete darkness, sat silent, his mind full of wrath against his captors. But as time passed and they made no sign, his fury somewhat evaporated and he began to wonder what it was they wanted with him. His rage had made him thirsty, and the mere fact that Lamson had stated that nothing would be given him to drink, made his thirst more insistent. It was impossible, he said to himself, that the scoundrels could carry out so diabolical a threat, but in spite of his assurance, little misgivings began to creep into his mind. At all events the vision of his usual cup of afternoon tea grew increasingly alluring. When therefore after what seemed to him several hours, but what was in reality about forty minutes only, the panel suddenly opened, he admitted sullenly that he was prepared to listen to what Lamson had to say. “That’s good,” the young man answered heartily. “If you could just see your way to humor us in this little matter there is no reason why we should not part friends.” “There’s no question of friends about it,” Cheyne declared sharply. “Cut your chatter and get on to business. What do you want?”