“You mean that you’ll help me to get rich?”

“Rich!” sneered Strong.  “What is rich?  It is Power that is worth having and to have power one must control capital.  In your wildest ranting of the power of the capitalist you have hardly touched the fringe of the power he has.  Only there are very few who are able to use it.  I offer you the opportunity to become one of the few.  I never make a mistake in men.  If you try you can be.  There is the offer, take it or leave it.”

For an instant Ned dreamed of accepting it, of throwing over everything to become a great capitalist, as Strong said so confidently he could be, and then, after long years, to pour his wealth into the treasuries of the movement, now often checked for lack of funds.  Then he thought of Nellie and of Geisner, what they would say, still hesitating.  Then he thought of his mates expecting him, waiting for him, and he decided.

“I was thinking,” he said, straightforwardly, “whether I wouldn’t like to make a pile so as to give it to the movement.  But, you see, Mr. Strong, the chaps are expecting me and that settles it.  I am much obliged but it would be dishonourable in me.”

“You know what is in front?” asked Strong, calmly, making a last effort.

“I think so.  I’m told I’m one of those to be locked up.  What does that matter?  That won’t lose me any friends.”

“A stubborn man will have his way,” remarked Strong.  Adding, at a venture:  “Particularly when there is a woman in it.”

“There is a woman in it,” answered Ned, flushing a little; “a woman who won’t have me.”

Strong opened the door.  “I’ve done my best for you,” he said.  “Don’t blame me whatever happens.  You, at least, had your choice of peace or war, of more than peace.”

“I understand.  Personally, I shan’t blame you,” said Ned.  “I choose war, more than war,” and he set his mouth doggedly.

“War, at any rate,” answered Strong, holding out his hand, his face as grave as Ned’s.  The two men gripped hands tightly, like duellists crossing swords.  Without another word they shook hands heartily and separated.

Strong closed the door and walked up and down his room, hurriedly, deep in thought, pulling his lip.  He sat down at his desk, took up his pen, got up and paced the room again.  He went to the window and looked out into the well that admitted light to the centre of the great fortress-building.  Then walked back to his desk and wrote.

“He is a dangerous man,” he murmured, as if excusing himself.  “He is a most dangerous man.”

A youth answered a touch of the button.  Strong sent for his confidential clerk.

“Send this at once to Queensland in cipher,” he instructed, in a business tone, when the man appeared; “this” being: 

Prominent bush unionist named Hawkins leaves Sydney to-night by train for Central Queensland via Brisbane.  Have him arrested immediately.  Most important.