“Nor ever will be, my poor friend, while he breathes and thinks.”

“But, Liane!” Lanyard deprecated, modestly casting down his eyes—­“you overwhelm me.”

“I don’t believe you,” Liane retorted coolly.

For some moments Lanyard continued to stare reflectively at his feet.  Nothing whatever of his thought was to be gathered from his countenance, though eyes more shrewd to read than those of Phinuit or Monk were watching it intently.

“Well, Mr. Lanyard, what do you say?”

Lanyard lifted his meditative gaze to the face of Phinuit.  “But surely there is more....” he suggested in a puzzled way.

“More what?”

“I find something lacking....  You have shown me but one side of the coin.  What is the reverse?  I appreciate the honour you do me, I comprehend fully the strong inducements I am offered.  But you have neglected—­an odd oversight on the part of the plain-spoken man you profess to be—­you have forgotten to name the penalty which would attach to a possible refusal.”

“I guess it’s safe to leave that to your imagination.”

“There would be a penalty, however?”

“Well, naturally, if you’re not with us, you’re against us.  And to take that stand would oblige us, as a simple matter of self-preservation, to defend ourselves with every means at our command.”

“Means which,” Lanyard murmured, “you prefer not to name.”

“Well, one doesn’t like to be crude.”

“I have my answer, monsieur—­and many thanks.  The parallel is complete.”

With a dim smile playing in his eyes and twitching at the corners of his lips, Lanyard leaned back and studied the deck beams.  Liane Delorme sat up with a movement of sharp uneasiness.

“Of what, my friend, are you thinking?”

“I am marvelling at something everybody knows—­that history does repeat itself.”

The woman made a sudden hissing sound, of breath drawn shortly between closed teeth.  “I hope not!” she sighed.

Lanyard opened his eyes wide at her.  “You hope not, Liane?”

“I hope this time history will not altogether repeat itself.  You see, my friend, I think I know what is in your mind, memories of old times....”

“True:  I am thinking of those days when the Pack hunted the Lone Wolf in Paris, ran him to earth at last, and made him much the same offer as you have made to-night....  The Pack, you should know, messieurs, was the name assumed by an association of Parisian criminals, ambitious like you, who had grown envious of the Lone Wolf’s success, and wished to persuade him to run with them.”

“And what happened?” Phinuit enquired.

“Why it so happened that they chose the time when I had made up my mind to be good for the rest of my days.  It was all most unfortunate.”

“What answer did you give them, then?”

“As memory serves, I told them they could all go plumb to hell.”