"It's rather a special menu," Laurence remarked. "There's a lobster Americaine—that was in Hipps' honour. But perhaps you don't care for shellfish, Barraclough."
"No, no, thank you. Prefer a Spartan diet. Glass of water and a piece of bread."
"Bread? Yes. I hope the baker remembered to call. Be awkward if——
Well, come along, Chief, no good letting things get cold."
They passed out of the room and the bolt slammed home.
With a crazy impulse Richard staggered across the floor, seized the door handle and shook it violently. One of those violent paroxysms of hunger suddenly possessed him which while they endure are acute agony. The longing for food gripped at his vitals like an eagle's claw and drove reasoned action from his head. He knew well enough that there was no escape to be made through the shuttered windows but ignoring the knowledge he leapt toward them and seized the iron cross-bar. As he lifted it from its slot the alarm bell above the frame rang out a fiery summons.
He fell back a pace beating the air impotently and whining. The door opened and Blayney and Parker, the two men servants, entered. Parker placed a tray on the table, then returned to stand in the open doorway. Blayney, ignoring Richard's presence, replaced the shutter bar in its old position and the bell stopped ringing. Then he turned and said:
"I shouldn't advise you, to try the window, sir. There's a strong electric current passes through the catch."
"Thank you," said Richard and slouched despondently toward the table where his glance fell upon the tray. Whatever victuals had been provided were concealed beneath a small silver cover but there was a napkin, a knife and fork and a cruet. On the whole it looked rather promising. Then suddenly he noticed that the glass beside the plate contained barely an inch of water.
"I say," he exclaimed, "look! Can't I have a jog of water? There isn't——"
"Not today, sir," said Blayney.