rising and pacing uneasily back and forth across the cabin floor.
"I gave you promise of excitement, and urged you to join me if you
could. And why? Because--"

He turned sharply, and faced Gregson across the table.

"I wanted you to come because the thing that happened down in
Valencia, and that other at Rio, isn't a circumstance to the hell
that's going to cut loose pretty soon up here--and I'm in need of
help. Understand? It's not fun--this time. I'm playing a single
hand in what looks like a losing game. If I ever needed a fighter
in my life I need one now. That's why I sent for you."

Gregson shoved back his chair and rose to his feet. He was a head
shorter than his companion, of almost delicate physique. Yet there
was something in the cold gray-blue of his eyes, a peculiar
hardness of his chin, that compelled one to look at him twice and
rendered first judgment unsafe. His slim fingers closed like steel
about Philip's.

"Now you're coming down to business, Phil," he exclaimed. "I've
been waiting with the patience of Job--or of little Bobby Tuckett,
if you remember him, who began courting Minnie Sheldon seven years
ago--and married her the day after I got your letter. I was too
busy figuring out what you hadn't written to go to the wedding. I
tried to read between the lines, and fell down completely. I've
been thinking all the way up from Le Pas, and I'm still at sea.
You called. I came. What's up?"

"It's going to sound a little mad--at first, Greggy," chuckled