answer to a nod from Parslewe. He turned to Bickerdale.
"Mr. Bickerdale!" he said in suave, placatory tones. "I think you'd better do what Mr. Parslewe asks! I—I've had some conversation with Mr. Parslewe, and—and I think that's what you'd better do, Mr. Bickerdale—just so!"
Bickerdale turned on him with a sudden glare which denoted nothing but sheer surprise. I could see that the man was fairly astonished—amazed.
"Why—why!" he exclaimed. "It was you—you!—that told me just now to do nothing of the sort!"
Pawley smiled in a queer, sickly, deprecating sort of fashion.
"Circumstances alter cases, Mr. Bickerdale," he said. "I—I didn't know then what I know now. My advice is, now—do as Mr. Parslewe wants."
Weech sprang to his feet—an epitome of anger and chagrin.
"But us!" he vociferated. "Us—me and him! What are we going to get out of it? Where shall we profit?" He turned almost
