“It is a long time since his nice West End pals brought any grist to our mill, and we don't propose to go on like this for ever. “What brought matters to a head was your arrival. We can stand a good deal, and we can wait a good deal. We are financed now and again by men whom we never set eyes on, and, according to Melun, we pay them a pretty rate of interest for our share of the work, but that is neither here nor there. What we do object to—and what you will find we object to to the extent of putting an end to it—is the importation of Yankee swankers from the States.” Westerham raised a protesting hand, but Crow did not heed him. “Oh, it is no use your objecting,” he said; “we can read you like a book. Things have been worse ever since your arrival. Melun has practically never been near us so that we have been left to our own resources. Well, we don't mind that; but we will see that the resources are such as we like.” He laughed a jarring laugh. “Now you may be as bad as the worst of us, and it may be you won't stick at much; and it may be that you have in that clever head a thousand ways of keeping us in funds. I should say by the look of you, you had. “But I should say, too, that you were one of the mean breed, who keeps things to himself. You are too much class for us. We don't suit your book, and so we can rot while you and Melun spend the dibs up West. Now, that's not good enough.” Crow looked round the table, the men nodded, and he continued:— “We are going to end it here and now. Mark you, Mr. High-and-Mighty, we owe you one grudge already. We did not go looking after you to interfere with your pleasures, which probably are a deal worse than ours. In the same way, we do not allow any interference with what we do down here. “It's a thing which Melun himself never dares to do, and why should you? It's more than we can stand. I am talking about those girls the other night.” Westerham was still smiling with his eyes hard and bright. “Perhaps,” he said, “you had better let me inform you that if I found the same state of things going on to-night I should interfere again.” Some of the men stared in astonishment at his audacity. Crow's face went white with passion. “Would you, my beauty? I don't think you would.” Then in a flash he had drawn a six-shooter from his pocket and yelled “Hands up!” Westerham laughed outright. Unless he should so lose control over himself as to act foolishly he knew that Crow would not fire. He had already told two men that they wanted no firing that night. So, instead of putting his hands up, he folded them placidly on the table. “Put that thing away,” he said quietly, “until you explain precisely what you intend to do.” Crow lowered his weapon but kept it on the table. He even laughed a hard, short laugh. “Well, you are a good plucked 'un at any rate,” he said, “and as your number's up, and dead men tell no tales, I don't see why I shouldn't oblige you.