"What say, Phin?"
"I was just reminding Monsieur Lanyard the fatal hour has struck, old thing."
The eyebrows knitted in painful effort to understand. When one has narrowly escaped death by strangulation one may be pardoned some slight mental haziness. Besides, it makes to retain sympathy, not to be too confoundedly clear-headed.
"Fatal hour?"
"The dear man promised to turn in his answer to our unselfish little proposition at six bells to-night and not later."
"Really?" The voice was interested, and so were the eyebrows; but Monk was at pains not to move. "And has he?"
"Not yet, old egg."
Monk opened expectant eyes and fixed them upon Lanyard's face, the eyebrows acquiring a slant of amiable enquiry.
"There is much to be said," Lanyard temporised. "That is, if you feel strong enough..."
"Oh, quite," Monk assured him in tones barely audible.