"If you do not know, what does it matter? Will you give it to me?"

Laverick shook his head.

"I have no document."

The man in the chair leaned forward. The muzzle of his revolver was
very bright, and he held it in fingers which were firm as a rock.

"Give it to me!" he repeated. "You ought to know that you are not
dealing with men who are unaccustomed to death. You have it about
you. Produce it, and I've done with you. Deny me, and you have not
time to say your prayers!"

Laverick was leaning against a small table which stood near the door.
His fingers suddenly gripped the ledger which lay upon it. He held
it in front of his face for a single moment, and then dashed it at
his visitor. He followed behind with one desperate spring. Once,
twice, the revolver barked out. Laverick felt the skin of his temple
burn and a flick on the ear which reminded him of his school-days.
Then his hand was upon the other man's throat and the revolver lay
upon the carpet.

"We 'll see about that. By the Lord, I've a good mind to wring the
life out of you. That bullet of yours might have been in my temple."

"It was meant to be there," the man gasped. "Hand over the document,
you pig-headed fool! It'll cost you your life - if not to-day,
to-morrow."