“Look here, sir,” he said, “you and I are going to settle this matter quick. Whatever you paid Skinner you can have back again. But I’m going to have that report.”      

       He took a quick step forward with uplifted hand—and looked into the shining muzzle of a tiny revolver. Behind it Mr. Sabin’s face, no longer pleasant and courteous, had taken to itself some very grim lines.     

       “I am a weak man, Mr. Horser, but I am never without the means of self-defence,” Mr. Sabin said in a still, cold tone. “Be so good as to sit down in that easy-chair.”      

       Mr. Horser hesitated. For one moment he stood as though about to carry out his first intention. He stood glaring at his opponent, his face contracted into a snarl, his whole appearance hideous, almost bestial. Mr. Sabin smiled upon him contemptuously—the maddening, compelling smile of the born aristocrat.     

       “Sit down!”      

       Mr. Horser sat down, whereupon Mr. Sabin followed suit.     

       “Now what have you to say to me?” Mr. Sabin asked quietly.     

       “I want that report,” was the dogged answer.     

       “You will not have it,” Mr. Sabin answered. “You can take that for granted. You shall not take it from me by force, and I will see that you do not charm it out of my pocket by other means. The information which it contains is of the utmost possible importance to me. I have bought it and paid for it, and I shall use it.”      

       Mr. Horser moistened his dry lips.     

       “I will give you,” he said, “twenty thousand dollars for its return.”      

       Mr. Sabin laughed softly.     

       “You bid high,” he said. “I begin to suspect that our friends on the other side of the water have been more than ordinarily kind to you.”      

       “I will give you—forty thousand dollars.”      

       Mr. Sabin raised his eyebrows.     

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