The sound of amateur brick-laying ceased suddenly and Rex came to the grating. “You’re wasting your time doing all those funny tricks,” he said confidently. “I practised that tie all one evening and you’ll not get away. If you come out you’ll be sorry!” “Avaunt fat man!” snarled Tab. “Get to your flesh pots, gross feeder!” Rex chuckled. “Partial to tab lines, eh?” “Get out of my sight,” said Tab, “you theatrical poseur! All the money you have couldn’t make you a gentleman--” He was interrupted by the torrent of rage which swept down upon him from the impotent man outside. “I wish I’d killed you,” he screamed. “My God, if I could get in--” “But you can’t,” said Tab, “that is why the position is so remarkably free from anxiety. Carver knows--don’t forget that. Carver will have you on the trap--he has promised himself that treat, though I can’t see how they’ll hang a crazy man,” he went on. Lander clawed at the steel plate, sobbing in his rage. “I’m not mad,” he screamed. “I’m sane! Nobody can put me away--I’m not mad, Tab, you know I’m not.” “You are just the maddest thing that ever lived,” said Tab inflexibly. “Thank God I saved Ursula--” the words were out of his lips before he regretted them. He had turned the mind of the man at the door in the last direction he wanted it to go. “Ursula--mine! Do you hear, she’s mine now.” Tab heard the clash of the trowel as it was thrown down and the sound of hurrying feet, growing fainter. Tab wriggled himself to his knees, threw back his weight and came to his feet. It was a terrible strain to support himself, but he was standing, doubled up grotesquely but free to move his feet a few inches at a time. So he crept to the table and leaning over, pulled the key toward him with his chin. He brought it carefully to the edge, then gripped the handle in his teeth and shuffled to the door. But the lock was set so close to the wall that he could not get his head into position to insert the key. He tried twice, and then what he feared, happened. The key dropped from his teeth with a clang to the floor. He was on the point of kneeling when he heard somebody moving about, Rex opened the door to the sitting-room and shouted something; what it was, Tab could not hear, but there came to him a noise as if somebody was breaking sticks. Crack, crack, crack! it went, and then he sniffed. It was a faint smell of burning petrol he had detected, and he knew that for him the worst had happened. Mayfield was on fire. XXXIV “No answer,” said Exchange. Mr. Carver rubbed his nose irritably and glanced up at the clock. Then he lifted the instrument again. “Give me Hertford 906,” he said. In five minutes the call was signalled.