"You are not staying over here now that the war has come?"

"Not I! But listen. There is no need for you to know where I am going,
and I am not going to tell you. There is no need for you to remember
that you ever knew me in your life. There is no need for you to
remember any of the work in which you have been engaged. Your
propaganda has developed a few strong men in this country and
discovered a good deal of pulp. You are part of the pulp. There is
only one other thing. If you should be heard of, Rentoul, shall we say
telephoning, or calling upon the police here, offering to sell--No, by
God, you don't!" The man's furtive tug at his hip pocket was almost
pathetic in its futility. Jocelyn Thew had him by the throat, holding
him with one hand well away from him, a quivering mass of discoloured,
terrified flesh.

"Now you know," he continued coolly, "why I sent for you, Rentoul. Now
you know why I rather preferred to see you here to coming to your
Fifth Avenue mansion. I don't like traps--I don't like traitors."

"I give you my word," the breathless man began, "my word of honour--"

"Neither would interest me," the other interrupted grimly. "You are
to be trusted just as far as you can be seen, just as far as your own
safety and welfare depend upon your fidelity. You needn't be so
terrified," he went on as, leaning over, he took the revolver from
Rentoul's pocket, drew out the cartridges and threw it upon the table.
"You've earned any ugly thing that might be coming to you, but I
should think it very probable that you will be able to go on
over-feeding your filthy carcass for a few more years. First of all,