Mr. Allen gazed a moment at David's face, thin, haggard, yet rare in its fineness. "H'm. A new variety." His gaze shifted till its edge took in the telephone on the table, and there it rested reflectively. Then he remarked, as though completing his thought aloud, "I guess it will be safer for you to do the telephoning. Will you please call up Central and ask her to give you Police Headquarters?" Wild, contrary impulses tugged at David, but man's primal instinct, self-preservation, controlled him the first moment. "I have been near starvation," he said, forcing his words to calmness. "I came here to steal--yes; but when I tried to steal, I could not. I--I did not steal!" His plea snapped off harshly. The world had driven him here, and with a rush he realised the world would not forgive him for being here. Bitterness swept into him in a great wave, and the recklessness that feels that all is lost. Besides, he could not ask mercy of Helen Chambers's lover. Mr. Allen gave an ironic laugh. "I've been hearing that sort of story for fifteen years. There never was a guilty man.--Call up Central." The natural animal hatred of a rival flared up. David looked Mr. Allen defiantly in the face. "If you want Central, call her yourself!" he said slowly. Mr. Allen was surprised, but his surprise passed immediately under his control. "Of course you are aware," he said quietly, "that you have the choice between calling up and being shot." "And you are aware," David returned, "that you have the choice between calling up and shooting." Mr. Allen was silent a moment. "The killing of a man who enters your house is justified by law," he warned grimly. "Well--why don't you shoot?" "Are you going to call up?" "So then--you're afraid to shoot!" taunted David. Mr. Allen remained silent. He gazed at David over the pistol barrel, and David gazed back at the pistol and at Mr. Allen. Their wills had locked horns, stood braced. "I'm getting very tired," said David, throwing a leg over a corner of the table. "If you don't shoot soon I'll have to go." At this instant David saw in the doorway behind Mr. Allen the small figure of Kate Morgan. In her right hand there shone a little pistol, in her left she held a heavy walking-stick. Mr. Allen broke his silence. "If you make a move toward your pocket while I cross the floor, it'll be your last move."