"There are times," Phipps replied, "when the issue which cannot be fought out to the end with arms can be joined in the council chamber. I have come to know your terms."
Wingate shook his head.
"I don't understand. It is too soon for this sort of thing. You are not beaten yet."
"I am tired," his visitor muttered. "May I sit down?"
"You are an unwelcome guest," Wingate replied coldly, "but sit if you will. Then say what you have to say and go."
Phipps sank into an easy-chair. It was obvious that he was telling the truth so far as regarded his fatigue. He seemed to have aged ten years.
"I have been down below in Stanley's rooms," he explained, "been through his papers. It's true what the inspector fellow reports. There isn't a scrap of evidence of any complication in his life. There isn't a shadow of doubt in my mind as to the cause of his disappearance."
"Indeed!" Wingate murmured.
"It's a villainous plot, engineered by you!" Phipps continued, his voice shaking. "I'm fond of the boy. That's why I've come to you. Name your terms."
Wingate indulged in a curious bout of silence. He took a pipe from a rack, filled it leisurely with tobacco, lit it and smoked for several moments. Then he turned towards his unwelcome companion.