Ray sat with his head on his hands, a figure so supremely miserable that any other man than Lew Brady would have felt sorry for him. “The whole truth is,” began Lew slowly, “that Lola’s very strong for you, boy.” “Then why did you tell me the other thing? Who was that?” He looked round. “What is it?” asked Lew. His own nerves were on edge. “I thought I heard somebody moving.” “A twig broke. Rabbits, it may be; there are thousands of ’em round here,” said Lew. “No, Lola’s a good girl.” He fished from his pocket a flask, pulled off the cup at the bottom and unscrewed the stopper, holding the flask to the light. “She’s a good girl,” he repeated, “and may she never be anything else.” He poured out a cupful, looked at the remainder in the bottle. “I’m going to drink her health. No, you drink first.” Ray shook his head. “I don’t like the stuff,” he said. The other man laughed. “For a fellow who’s been pickled night after night, that’s certainly an amusing view to take,” he said. “If you can’t hold a dram of whisky for the sake of drinking Lola’s health, well, you’re a poor——” “Give it to me.” Ray snatched the cup, but spilt a portion, and, drinking down the contents at a draught, he threw the metal holder to his companion. “Ugh! I don’t care for that whisky. I don’t think I care for any whisky at all. There’s nothing harder to pretend you like than drinking, if you don’t happen to like it.” “I don’t think anybody likes it at first,” said Lew. “It’s like tomatoes—a cultivated taste.” He was watching his companion keenly. “Where do we go from Gloucester?” asked Ray. “We don’t go anywhere from Gloucester. We just stop there for a day, and then we change and come back.” “It’s a stupid idea,” said Ray Bennett, screwing up his eyes and yawning. “Who is this Frog, Lew?” He yawned again, lay back on the grass, his hands under his head. Lew Brady emptied the remainder of the flask’s contents upon the grass, screwed up the stopper and shook the cup before he rose and walked across to the sleeping boy. “Hi, get up!” he said. There was no answer. “Get up, you!” With a groan, Ray turned over, his head on his arms, and did not move again. A sudden misgiving came to Lew Brady. Suppose he was dead? He went livid at the thought. That quarrel, so cleverly engineered by the Frog, would be enough to convict him. He whipped the flask from his pocket and slipped it into the coat pocket of the sleeper. And then he heard a sound, and, turning, saw a man watching him. Lew stared, opened his mouth to speak, and: “_Plop!_” He saw the flash of the flame before the bullet struck him. He tried to open his mouth to speak, and: “_Plop!_” Lew Brady was dead before he touched the ground.