“When you’ve quite done your charming reminiscences—which, I may say, are hardly tactful in the presence of the aggrieved husband—we’ll just go through the mere formality of tying you up, young fellow. Got any rope about the office, Miriam?” “There’s some cord of sorts, I believe in the clerks’ room.” “Get it, there’s a good girl. If it won’t do we’ll have to use the blind cord. Oh, by the way, you can put your hands down now—but stand back in that corner where my gun’ll reach you before your fists can do any harm.” Wraile, for all his bantering manner, did not for a second take his eye off his captive, while he kept him covered with an unwavering pistol. Miriam Wraile was soon back with a length of coarse but strong packing cord. “Now, Lessingham,” said Wraile, “it’s about time you took the stage—you truss him up—then you’ll be as guilty as we are. Give it him, darling.” Lessingham recoiled from the proffered cord. “I—I’d rather not,” he said. “I don’t know how to—I don’t think I’ve ever tied anything.” Wraile looked at him with surprise, not unmixed with contempt. “Oh, all right,” he said. “Give it to me. You’ll note he doesn’t protest against the assault, Fratten; his moral assent to it is just as incriminating as active participation. What a pity there’s no one to witness it.” “Oh, I’ll do that for you,” said Ryland. “Don’t worry; you’re evidently all in it.” “Yes, but the trouble is that—well, you know the old proverb—too hackneyed to quote.” While he was speaking Wraile had tied Ryland’s hands behind his back and also bound his ankles together, while Mrs. Wraile kept the unfortunate young man covered with her husband’s automatic. At the last words Ryland’s normally pale face turned a dead white, by comparison with which his accustomed pallor seemed the glow of health. “Just what do you mean by that?” he asked, in a voice that he was evidently doing his utmost to keep steady. Wraile laughed shortly and was about to reply when Lessingham broke in: “I—I don’t like this,” he said. “What are you going to do, Wraile? You’re not going to . . .” “Oh, dry up,” the other broke in curtly, his patience with his confederate evidently wearing thin. “You know perfectly well we can’t afford to let this chap go now.” “Yes, but can’t we put him somewhere till we’re—till we’re—you know what I mean.” “Yes, I know what you mean, and I’m not going to—not yet—not till I’m at my last gasp do I give up this chance of a lifetime now that it’s at our very mouths. No, we’re going through with this—and this young fool’ll have to be put out of the way.” “Aren’t you being just the least bit cold-blooded? discussing the poor boy’s fate in front of his eyes?” interposed Mrs. Wraile. “Supposing we adjourn to my office.”