They blinked as the lantern dazzled their eyes, but they did not blink so much that they failed to catch the glint of the weapon Westerham carried. “You dog, Melun!” cried one of them, “is this your friend that is to help us all? If he goes on at this rate he will land us all in gaol.” Melun, however, by this time saw who was the better man, and felt that at the present pinch he was wise to stand by Westerham. So he cursed the men roundly and ordered them back, asking them, with pleasant oaths, how long it was since they had ceased to have faith in him. To this altercation Westerham paid no heed. He contented himself that at his direction the negro opened the door. The girls he told to wait for him outside. On the threshold he turned about and faced the angry men. “The sooner you people come to recognise,” he said, “that while I am here I shall do things in my own way so much the better for you. I am not in the habit of being interfered with by scum such as yourselves.” He purposely gave the negro a push, which sent him rolling back into the passage; then he went out and drew the door after him with a slam. Once in the street, Melun broke into a torrent of rebuke. Westerham was of no mind to listen to him and cut him short. Turning to the girls, he said: “Walk whichever way you have to go, and I will follow and see that you are not molested.” The girls would have hung round him to thank him, but he ordered them to walk on quickly, and then taking Melun's arm in the grip of his hand, he followed them till they had gained the main road. There he did not even take the trouble to nod the girls good-bye, but bundled Melun into a tram running westward. They were alone on the top of the car, and Melun endeavoured to speak again, but Westerham told him roughly to be silent. He said no word, indeed, until they were back in the hotel. The captain was beyond protesting; he appeared dazed and cowed by the swiftness with which Westerham had wrested his authority from him and practically fought his way out of Limehouse. In the little sitting-room, Westerham with great precision poured out a couple of whisky-and-sodas and handed Melun a cigar. “You will not understand me the better by sulking or skulking,” he said. “I would suggest to you that even if you are not one you had better try to be a man.” Melun winced, and was about to reply angrily, when Westerham again cut him short. “Listen to me,” he said sharply. “I realise that while I am associated with you for my own ends I shall have to close my eyes to a great many matters not exactly permitted by the law of this country. That contingency, however, I was from the first prepared to face. There are, however, certain things which you had better at once understand I do not permit.” “You do not permit!” Melun almost yelled. “That I do not permit,” repeated Westerham, coldly. “And one of them is such a scene as I have witnessed to-night.”