The two stopped again, a trifle nearer each other, and Appleby felt his right arm tingle. Still, a rash move would probably prove fatal, and he remembered even then that because silent endurance is not a characteristic of the Latins his adversary was the more likely to yield beneath the strain and do something that would equalize the advantage his skill with the knife conferred upon him. The man with colder blood could wait. He, however, found it sufficiently harassing, for in the meanwhile he could feel in fancy the sting of the knife, and remembered with unpleasant distinctness the feinting play with the steel he had now and then seen his peons indulge in. One thrust, he fancied, would suffice, for the Cuban knows just how and where to strike. He could feel his heart beating, and the perspiration streaming down his face. Then the door behind him was flung wide open, a blink of light flashed into the room and shone upon an olive‐tinted face; while, when Appleby, uncertain what this boded, swung up the bar to force an issue, the man flung down a knife. “Carramba!” he said hoarsely. “It is too unequal.” Appleby glanced over his shoulder, and saw Pancho, his major‐domo, standing half dressed not far behind him with a lantern and a big machete in his hand. He stooped, picked up the knife, and with a flick of his fingers slid it into his sleeve. Then he held the lantern higher, and Appleby recognized his adversary as a weight clerk in the sugar mill. He blinked with his eyes, and the damp dripped from his face, which showed haggard and drawn; but Appleby, who wondered if his own wore that look, surmised that this was not due to cowardice, and understood why the man breathed in gasps. “Leave the light, and go for the Señor Harper, Pancho,” he said, and his voice sounded curiously harsh and uneven. The major‐domo, however, shook his head. “With permission, I will stay here, señor,” he said. “Ask him what he has come for.” The other man sat down somewhat limply on the table and essayed to laugh. “The question is not necessary, Don Pancho,” he said. “One has always a use for silver.” Appleby glanced at the safe, which had not been tampered with, and fancied as he did so that Pancho made a sign to him. “You were looking for it in a curious place,” he said. “One does not keep silver loose in a drawer. At least, not in Cuba. It would be better if you told us plainly what brought you here.” “To what purpose, when you do not believe me?” said the man, with an attempt at tranquillity. “Still, the Señor Harding is only liberal to his countrymen; and I have been unfortunate at the Casino.” Appleby saw the major‐domo’s smile of incredulity, and felt a mild astonishment at the fact that he was quietly arguing with a man who would, he knew, have killed him without compunction a few minutes earlier had the opportunity been afforded him.