CHAPTER I

THE CRISIS


They sat squarely gazing into each other's eyes. Bat Marker had only one
mood to express. It was a mood that suggested determination to fight to
a finish, to fight with the last ounce of strength, the last gasp of
breath. He was sitting at the desk, opposite his friend and employer,
Leslie Standing, and his small grey eyes were shining coldly under his
shaggy, black brows. His broad shoulders were squared aggressively.

There was far less display in the eyes of Leslie Standing. They were
wide with a deep pre-occupation. But then Standing was of very different
type. His pale face, his longish black hair, brushed straight back from
an abnormally high forehead, suggested the face of a student, even a
priest. Harker was something of the roused bull-dog, strong, rugged,
furious; a product of earth's rough places.

"Give us that last bit again."

Bat's tone matched his attitude. It was abrupt, forceful, and he thrust
out a hand pointing at the letter from which the other had been reading.

Standing's eyes lit with a shadow of a smile as he turned again to the
letter.

"There's just one thing more. It's less pleasant, so I've kept