would be no good to me. '

He paused, biting his under lip and staring with hard eyes into the
fire.

'Read that,' he said at length, and handed Conyngham a cutting from
a daily newspaper.

The younger man read, without apparent interest, an account of the
Chester-le-Street meeting, and the subsequent attack on Sir John
Pleydell's house.

'Yes,' he commented, 'the usual thing. Brave words followed by a
cowardly deed. What in the name of fortune you were doing in that
galere you yourself know best. If these are politics, Horner, I say
drop them. Politics are a stick, clean enough at the top, but
you've got hold of the wrong end. Young Pleydell was hurt, I see--
"seriously, it is feared."'

'Yes,' said Horner significantly; and his companion, after a quick
look of surprise, read the slip of paper carefully a second time.
Then he looked up and met Horner's eyes.

'Gad!' he exclaimed in a whisper.

Horner said nothing. The dog moved restlessly, and for a moment the
whole world--that sleepless world of the streets--seemed to hold its
breath.

'And if he dies,' said Conyngham at length.