light, panting and gasping, but speaking no word. The strength of
the elder man was unnatural--it frightened the younger and stronger
combatant.

At last Guy Oscard got his knee on his father's neck, and bent his
wrist back until he was forced to let go his hold on the bottle.

"Get back to bed!" said the son breathlessly. "Get back to bed."

Thomas Oscard suddenly changed his tactics. He whined and cringed
to his own offspring, and begged him to give him the bottle. He
dragged across the floor on his knees--three thousand pounds a year
on its knees to Guy Oscard, who wanted that money because he knew
that he would never get Millicent Chyne without it.

"Get back to bed!" repeated Guy sternly, and at last the man crept
sullenly between the rumpled sheets.

Guy put things straight in a simple, man-like way. The doctor's
instructions were quite clear. If any sign of excitement or mental
unrest manifested itself, the sleeping-draught contained in a small
bottle on the mantelpiece was to be administered at once, or the
consequences would be fatal. But Thomas Oscard refused to take it.
He seemed determined to kill himself. The son stood over him and
tried threats, persuasion, prayers; and all the while there was in
his heart the knowledge that, unless his father could be made to
sleep, the reputed three thousand a year would be his before the
morning.

It was worse than the actual physical struggle on the floor. The