"I have been down below in Stanley's rooms," he explained, "been through his papers. It's true what the inspector fellow reports. There isn't a scrap of evidence of any complication in his life. There isn't a shadow of doubt in my mind as to the cause of his disappearance." "Indeed!" Wingate murmured. "It's a villainous plot, engineered by you!" Phipps continued, his voice shaking. "I'm fond of the boy. That's why I've come to you. Name your terms." Wingate indulged in a curious bout of silence. He took a pipe from a rack, filled it leisurely with tobacco, lit it and smoked for several moments. Then he turned towards his unwelcome companion. "I am debarred by a promise made to myself," he said coldly, "from offering you any form of hospitality. If you wish to smoke, I shall not interfere." Phipps shook his head. "I have not smoked all the evening," he confessed, "I cannot. You are right when you say that we are not beaten, but I like to look ahead. I want to know your terms." "You are anxious about your nephew?" "Yes!" "And why do you connect me with his disappearance?" Phipps gave a little weary gesture. "I am so sick of words," he said. "We will argue the matter, then," conceded Wingate, "from your point of view. Supposing that your nephew has been abducted and is held at the present moment as a hostage. It would be, without doubt, by some person or persons who resented the brutality, the dishonesty, the foul commercial methods of the company with which he was connected. An amendment of those methods might produce his release." "And that amendment?" Wingate picked up a newspaper and glanced at it, pulled a heavy gold pencil from his chain and made a few calculations. "Your operations in wheat," he said, "have brought the loaf which should cost the working man a matter of sevenpence up to two shillings. You seem to have dabbled in a good many other products, too, the price of which you have forced up into the clouds,--just those products which are necessary to the working man. But we will leave those alone, if you were to sell wheat at forty-five per cent less than to-day's price, I should think it extremely likely that Stanley Rees would be able to dine with you to-morrow night." "You are talking like a madman," Phipps declared. "It would mean ruin." "How sad!" Wingate murmured. "All the same, I do not think that you will see your nephew again until you have sold wheat." "You admit that you are responsible, then?" Phipps growled. "I admit nothing of the sort. I am simply speculating as to the possible cause of his disappearance. If I had anything to do with it, those would be my terms. To-morrow they might be the same; perhaps the next day. But," he went on, with a sudden almost fierce break in his voice, "the day after would probably be too late. There are a great many hungry people in the north. There are a great many who are starving. There is one in London who is beginning to feel the pangs."