"I don’t think we need bother as to what it was," he said, quietly. "Shall we leave it at the fact that however excellent a husband Strongley may make, as a boss of Frenton’s he is a complete failure?" He bit his lip as he saw the look on the girl’s face. Then he went on in the same quiet voice. "Things like this hurt, Miss Frenton: but you are the type that appreciates frankness. And I tell you quite openly that the men are after your fiancé. And I don’t blame them." "You side with them, do you?" She threw the words at him fiercely. "Am I not one of them?" he replied, gravely. "You know you’re not." She stood up and faced him. "You’re not one of the ordinary hands. Look at your evening clothes; look at that gun-case in the corner...." She paused as she saw the sudden look on his face. "What is it?" "Into this room quickly," he whispered. "You must stop there till he goes. Good Lord! What a complication!" "Who is it?" she cried, startled by his evident agitation. "Strongley," he whispered. "Heard his voice in the hall. Absolutely unexpected." He closed the door, and she found herself in his bedroom, just as the landlady ushered in the second visitor. And if she had been surprised on her first entrance to John Morrison’s rooms, it was evident that the Honourable Herbert was even more so. "Good Lord, man," he spluttered. "Why the glad rags? I—er—of course, it’s no business of mine, but your general appearance gave me a bit of a shock." To the girl listening intensely on the other side of the door it seemed as if a note of relief had crept into her fiancé’s voice—relief in which a certain amount of uneasiness was mingled. "What can I do for you?" John Morrison asked, gravely. "Well—er—don’t you know"—undoubtedly the visitor was not at all sure of his ground—"your rooms and that sort of thing have rather knocked me. I mean—er—I’m rather in the soup, Morrison: and I really came round to ask your advice, don’t you know. I mean you saw the whole thing—yesterday: and though I’m afraid I lost my temper with you too, yet even at that time I saw you were different. And—er—I thought..." The Honourable Herbert mopped his forehead and sank into a chair. "The mere fact that I change for dinner doesn’t seem to alter the situation appreciably," said Morrison, quietly. "No, by Jove—I suppose not." The other sat up and braced himself for the plunge. "Well, what the hell am I to do? And what the devil are the men going to do? Are they going to strike?" "No—I don’t think so." Morrison smiled at the sudden look of relief on Strongley’s face. "They’re too fond of Mr. Frenton and his daughter. It’s you they’re after." "What are they going to do?" "Give you a pleasant half-hour under the steam-hammer," said Morrison deliberately, and the other rose with a stifled cry. "Just to test your nerves. Let it drop to within an inch to you—then stop it. And if that doesn’t expedite your departure—they’ll take other steps...."