“Get him to his feet,” he said, pointing to Melun. Melun was dragged up, dazed and bleeding. “You will do nothing to this gentleman,” said the bullet-headed man, waving his hand with some deference towards Westerham, “until you have cleared yourself. You will have to see if the papers are gone. But you don't go alone—not much!” Then Crow spoke up: “Let me go with him,” he pleaded. The bullet-headed man shook his head. “You have almost as much to answer for as Melun,” he objected. “No,” he continued. “Ross is the man. We can trust Ross.” Ross came forward as though the task of watching Melun was not an unwelcome one. “Yes, boys,” he said, “you can trust me. I will go.” “Then pull him together a bit,” ordered the bullet-headed man. Thereupon they roughly plucked Melun's clothes into shape, sponged his face clear of blood, set his hat on his head, and put his stick into his hand. By this time he had practically recovered himself. He gave one quick look of intense hatred towards Westerham and one quick, vindictive glance in the direction of the man with the bullet head. “Very well,” he said, in a rather shaky voice. “If it must be, it must be. You are fools to believe your enemy, but I cannot prevent you. If you must know all, you will probably lose all; well—so much the worse for you.” He jerked his waistcoat down and assumed a certain air of bravado. In spite of himself, Westerham could not but admire the man. At this point Crow urged again that he should be allowed to accompany Melun. Ross made no objection, and he was given leave to go. The scoundrels round the table then watched Melun take his departure with Ross and Crow. The room was very quiet, and Westerham could hear the men's retreating footsteps along the path of the canal. When they had quite ceased to be audible Westerham turned again to the bullet-headed man. “How long do you suppose,” he asked, “we shall have to wait?” “Heaven knows,” answered the fat man, with a shrug. “Then, if you will permit me,” said Westerham, “I will sit down. And,” he added, “I should be obliged to you if you will remove these.” He stretched out his handcuffed wrists. One of the men laughed and knocked them off. Westerham thanked him and sat down. Without more ado he took out his cigarette-case and lit a cigarette. As he smoked he turned things rapidly over in his mind. He was perfectly certain that Melun, in spite of his protestations, would not reveal the whereabouts of the papers. Westerham even doubted whether Melun would take the trouble to lead the man on a bogus chase. For some reason which he was unable to account for he had a foreboding of coming evil. He tried to shake it off, but in vain. Time and time again he tried to think matters out and decide what Melun's probable course of action would be. But time and time again he failed to work out any theory which satisfied him. At last, when half an hour had gone by and the delay was becoming irksome, Westerham spoke up again.