Malcolm Grey stood somewhat uncomfortably outside the little office on the seashore, hardly knowing what to do. In some vague way the features of the person who called himself Ephraim Bark were familiar, though he could not place the man. He would have stayed a little longer, only he seemed to be in the way; it looked, too, as if he were listening to a private conversation. He knew Arnold Rent by reputation and personally. He was aware that the latter had the character of a man about town, not too scrupulous¹ where his passions and fancies were concerned. One or two strange tales had come to Grey's ears, though, at the time, he had paid small heed² to them. And here was a man, whom no gentleman would touch without gloves, actually speaking as if he held some power over Rent. No man who did not feel positive of his ground would have spoken in that bullying³ way, especially as the fellow gave every indication of being a coward if he came to be tackled.

 

At any other time Grey would have dismissed the incident with a shrug⁴ of the shoulders, but he had his own reasons now for learning all he could concerning the past history of Arnold Rent. Therefore he lingered to see what was likely to be the upshot of the interview.

 

He saw Swift's hands clenched⁵ with passion. He saw the desire to strike down the intruder gleaming in his eyes. Then Swift restrained himself, as if suddenly remembering that this was an occasion when diplomacy⁶ was wiser than strength.

 

"It is useless for you to hang about here," Swift said. "Mr. Rent is not in the neighbourhood, and I don't suppose he will be back before morning. You can come and see him if you like, but I should not advise you to do so."

 

"That's all very well," the aggrieved⁷ Bark burst out. "But what am I to do in the meantime? And why should he have everything while I've got nothing? By the time I have had my dinner I sha'n't have a cent to pay my

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