“Then it’s the man the landlord of the ‘Moor Cock’ told us about,” said Breton. “Now, look here—I know every inch of this place. When we’re across let me go up to the cottage, and I’ll take an observation through that window and see who’s inside. Come on.” He led Spargo across the stream at a place where a succession of boulders made a natural bridge, and bidding him keep quiet, went up the bank to the cottage. Spargo, watching him, saw him make his way past the shrubs and undergrowth until he came to a great bush which stood between the lighted window and the projecting porch of the cottage. He lingered in the shadow of this bush but for a short moment; then came swiftly and noiselessly back to his companion. His hand fell on Spargo’s arm with a clutch of nervous excitement. “Spargo!” he whispered. “Who on earth do you think the other man is?” CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR THE WHIP HAND Spargo, almost irritable from desire to get at close grips with the objects of his long journey, shook off Breton’s hand with a growl of resentment. “And how on earth can I waste time guessing?” he exclaimed. “Who is he?” Breton laughed softly. “Steady, Spargo, steady!” he said. “It’s Myerst—the Safe Deposit man. Myerst!” Spargo started as if something had bitten him. “Myerst!” he almost shouted. “Myerst! Good Lord!—why did I never think of him? Myerst! Then——” “I don’t know why you should have thought of him,” said Breton. “But—he’s there.” Spargo took a step towards the cottage: Breton pulled him back. “Wait!” he said. “We’ve got to discuss this. I’d better tell you what they’re doing.” “What are they doing, then?” demanded Spargo impatiently. “Well,” answered Breton. “They’re going through a quantity of papers. The two old gentlemen look very ill and very miserable. Myerst is evidently laying down the law to them in some fashion or other. I’ve formed a notion, Spargo.” “What notion?” “Myerst is in possession of whatever secret they have, and he’s followed them down here to blackmail them. That’s my notion.” Spargo thought awhile, pacing up and down the river bank. “I daresay you’re right,” he said. “Now, what’s to be done?” Breton, too, considered matters. “I wish,” he said at last, “I wish we could get in there and overhear what’s going on. But that’s impossible—I know that cottage. The only thing we can do is this—we must catch Myerst unawares. He’s here for no good. Look here!” And reaching round to his hip-pocket Breton drew out a Browning revolver and wagged it in his hand with a smile. “That’s a useful thing to have, Spargo,” he remarked. “I slipped it into my pocket the other day, wondering why on earth I did it. Now it’ll come in handy. For anything we know Myerst may be armed.” “Well?” said Spargo.