“Your operations in wheat,” he said, “have brought the loaf which should cost the working man a matter of sevenpence up to two shillings.  You seem to have dabbled in a good many other products, too, the price of which you have forced up into the clouds,—­just those products which are necessary to the working man.  But we will leave those alone, if you were to sell wheat at forty-five per cent less than to-day’s price, I should think it extremely likely that Stanley Rees would be able to dine with you to-morrow night.”

“You are talking like a madman,” Phipps declared.  “It would mean ruin.”

“How sad!” Wingate murmured.  “All the same, I do not think that you will see your nephew again until you have sold wheat.”

“You admit that you are responsible, then?” Phipps growled.

“I admit nothing of the sort.  I am simply speculating as to the possible cause of his disappearance.  If I had anything to do with it, those would be my terms.  To-morrow they might be the same; perhaps the next day.  But,” he went on, with a sudden almost fierce break in his voice, “the day after would probably be too late.  There are a great many hungry people in the north.  There are a great many who are starving.  There is one in London who is beginning to feel the pangs.”

“You are ill-treating him!” Phipps cried passionately.  “I shall go to Scotland Yard myself!  I shall tell them what you have said.  I shall denounce you!”

“My dear fellow,” Wingate scoffed, “you have done that already.  You have induced those very excellent upholders of English law and liberty to set a plain-clothes man to following me about.  I can assure you that he has had a very pleasant and a very busy evening.”

Phipps rose to his feet.

“Wingate,” he exclaimed, “curse you!”

“A very natural sentiment.  I hope that you may repeat it a good many times before the end comes.”

“You are a conspirator—­a criminal!” Phipps continued, his voice shaking with excitement.  “You are breaking the laws of the country.  I shall see that you are in gaol before the week is out!”

“A good deal of what you say is true,” Wingate admitted, “with the possible exception of the latter part.  Believe me, Peter Phipps, you are a great deal more likely to see the inside of a prison than I am.  You will be a poor man presently and poor men of your type are desperate.”

Phipps remained perfectly silent for several moments.

“Wingate, you are a hard enemy,” he said at last.  “Will you treat?”

“I have named the price.”

“You are a fool!” Phipps almost shouted.  “Do you know,” he went on, striking the table with his clenched fist, “that what you suggest would cost five million pounds?”

“You and your friends can stand it,” was the unruffled reply.  “If not, your brokers can share the loss.”

“That means you make a bankrupt of me?” Phipps demanded hoarsely.