“What if we refuse?” Dredlinton asked.

“You will be made a little more secure,” Wingate explained, “your gags fastened, and your arms corded to the backs of the chairs.”

“But for how long?”

“Until you give the word.”

“And supposing we never give the word?” Stanley Rees demanded.

“Then you sit there,” Wingate replied, “until you die.”

Dredlinton glanced covertly across at Phipps, and, finding no inspiration there, turned to Wingate.  The light of an evil imagining shone in his eyes.

“This is a matter which we ought to discuss in private conference,” he said slowly.  “What do you think, Phipps?”

“I agree—­”

“I am afraid,” Wingate interrupted suavely, “that Mr. Phipps’ views will not affect the situation.  You three gentlemen are my treasured and honoured guests.  I shall not desert you—­as a matter of fact, I shall scarcely leave you, except upon your own business—­until your decision is made.”

“Guests be damned!” Dredlinton exclaimed.  “It’s my house—­not yours!”

“Mine for a short time by appropriation,” Wingate answered, with a faint smile.

“Supposing,” Rees suggested, “we were induced to knuckle under, to become the victims of your damned blackmailing scheme, surely then one of us would be allowed to go down to the City on parole, eh?”

Wingate shook his head.

“I regret to say that I should not feel justified in letting one of you out of my sight.  In the event of your seeing reason, the telephone will be at your disposal, and a verbal message by its means could be confirmed by all three of you.  I imagine that your office would sell on such instructions.”

Phipps, who had been sitting during the last few minutes in a state almost of torpor, began to show signs of his old vigorous self.  He shook his head firmly.

“This is a matter which need not be discussed,” he declared.  “You have taken our breath away, Wingate.  Your amazing assurance has made it difficult for us to answer you coherently.  I am only now beginning to realise that you are in earnest in this idiotic piece of melodrama, but if you are—­so are we.—­You can starve us or shoot us or suffocate us, but we shall not sell wheat.—­By God, we shan’t!”

The man seemed for a moment to swell,—­his eyes to flash fire.  Wingate shrugged his shoulders.

“I accept your defiance,” he announced.  “Let us commence our tryst.”

Dredlinton struck the table with his fist, Phipps’ brave words seemed to have struck an alien note of fear in his fellow prisoner.

“I will not submit!” he exclaimed.  “My health will not stand it!—­Phipps!—­Rees!”

There was meaning in his eyes as well as in his tone, a meaning which Phipps put brutally into words.

“It’s no good, Dredlinton,” he warned him.  “We are going to stick it out, and you’ve got to stick it out with us.  But,” he added, glaring at Wingate, “remember this.  Only half an hour before I was taken, Scotland Yard rang up to tell me that they thought they had a clue as to Stanley’s disappearance.  You risk five years’ penal servitude by this freak.”