“Do you think you could convince anybody who heard my story?” “We can try. Isn’t it clear to you that Mr. Palliser can’t go on subsidizing you forever?” “He’ll go on until there’s enough put by to bring his daughter up a lady.” Again Appleby failed to discern the sincerity of conviction in Davidson’s tone, which would have been evident to him had he possessed any of the qualities which go to make a successful lawyer. “I think you are mistaken,” he said. “It is quite clear to us that you will tell your story sooner or later, and because it is Mr. Palliser will tell it before you in his own way. That cuts the ground from under your feet, you see. Then he will indict you and your daughter for conspiracy. It is a somewhat serious thing to blackmail anybody, but you shall have one more chance. I will pay you twenty pounds for Mr. Palliser’s letter, on condition that you sign a statement confessing there is no truth in the slander you have brought against him, and leave his uncle’s service within a month from to‐morrow.” The man stood silent a moment or two, his gun on his arm; and it was unfortunate that Appleby could not see the passion in his face. A sullen hatred of the class he served had smouldered within him since the day a gunshot accident, for which he had obtained no adequate compensation, left him with a limp, and now when he saw the game was up it blazed into unreasoning anger. He may also have been as fond of his daughter as he was of gold, and deceived by her, for the veins were swollen on his forehead when he made a step forward. “Who are you to thrust yourself into what doesn’t concern you?” he said. “I am a lawyer,” said Appleby quietly. “Don’t come any nearer!” Davidson dropped the gun into the palm of his left hand with a rattle. “I might have known it by your tricks,” he said. “Well, I’ll make you fight, and we’ll see who Miss Wayne will believe to‐morrow. Now take yourself and your money to —— out of this!” He raised the gun, and Appleby’s calmness deserted him. With a sweep of the riding crop he struck the barrel aside, and, perhaps without Davidson intending it, there was a flash and an explosion. Then the riding crop came down upon a dim white face. The man reeled, recovered, and lurched forward, while next moment he and his adversary were panting and straining in a breathless grapple. Davidson was a strong man, but the blow had dazed him, and the refreshment consumed at the “Black Bull” had endued him with an unreasoning passion, which was not an advantage in a conflict with a man who kept his head. Appleby was also wiry, and tolerably proficient in a certain useful art. Thus when he got his fist home in a place where it would hurt Davidson slackened his grasp, and Appleby struck again as he flung him off. He staggered backwards and went down heavily. Appleby stood still until he rose shakily to his feet again. “Go home,” he said. “You will be sorry for this tomorrow. It will probably cost you twenty pounds.”