Bernadine stood up and moved to the further end of the office. He beckoned his companion to his side and, drawing an electric torch from his pocket, flashed the light into a dark corner behind an immense bin. The forms of a man and a youth, bound with ropes and gagged, lay stretched upon the floor. De Grost sighed.
“I am afraid,” he said, “that Mr. Greening, at any rate, is most uncomfortable.”
Bernadine turned off the light.
“At least, Baron,” he declared, “if such extreme measures should become necessary, I can promise you one thing—you shall have a quicker passage into Eternity than they.”
De Grost resumed his seat.
“Has it really come to that?” he asked. “Will nothing but so crude a proceeding as my absolute removal satisfy you?”
“Nothing else is, I fear, practicable,” Bernadine replied, “unless you decide to listen to reason. Believe me, my dear friend, I shall miss you and our small encounters exceedingly, but, unfortunately, you stand in the way of my career. You are the only man who has persistently balked me. You have driven me to use against you means which I had grown to look upon as absolutely extinct in the upper circles of our profession.”
De Grost peered through the glass walls of the office.
“Eight men, not counting yourself,” he remarked, “and my poor manager and his faithful clerk lying bound and helpless. It is heavy odds, Bernadine.”
“There is no question of odds, I think,” Bernadine answered smoothly. “You are much too clever a person to refuse to admit that you are entirely in my power.”