“I shall make it my especial concern,” Mr. Sabin said firmly, “to see that all intercourse between you ends at once.”
Wolfenden rose to his feet.
“It is obviously useless,” he said, “to continue this conversation. I have told you my intentions. I shall pursue them to the best of my ability. Good-morning.”
Mr. Sabin held out his hand.
“I have just a word more to say to you,” he declared. “It is about your father.”
“I do not desire to discuss my father, or any other matter with you,” Wolfenden said quietly. “As to my father’s work, I am determined to solve the mystery connected with it once and for all. I have wired for Mr. C. to come down, and, if necessary, take possession of the papers. You can get what information you require from him yourself.”
Mr. Sabin rose up slowly; his long, white fingers were clasped around the head of that curious stick of his. There was a peculiar glint in his eyes, and his cheeks were pale with passion.
“I am very much obliged to you for telling me that,” he said; “it is valuable information for me. I will certainly apply to Mr. C.”
He had been drawing nearer and nearer to Wolfenden. Suddenly he stopped, and, with a swift movement, raised the stick on which he had been leaning, over his head. It whirled round in a semi-circle. Wolfenden, fascinated by that line of gleaming green light, hesitated for a moment, then he sprang backwards, but he was too late. The head of the stick came down on his head, his upraised arm did little to break the force of the blow. He sank to the ground with a smothered groan.