There are certain types of stubbornness that increase in direct ratio to the pressure applied. To this type Barraclough belonged. He had yet to find the man who could induce him to talk against his will. Woman? Ah, that's a different matter. The argument took an angry turn.
"It occurs to me," said Mr. Torrington sweetly, "it was a pity I deserted my greenhouses this morning. We remain in statu quo ante."
A reproach from Mr. Torrington seldom failed to reach its mark.
"I'm sorry," Barraclough apologised, "but I give you my solemn word that somehow I'll win you the purse."
"The purse," Mr. Torrington smiled. "One almost forgets the purse in a case like this. It is eclipsed by the will to succeed. Adventure! The one thing of which old people never tire."
And then it was that Cranbourne who, curled up in the window seat with his chin resting on his knees, had taken no part in the debate, made his first observation.
"If Barraclough is to succeed it will have to be in the next three days. At midnight on the 27th he is going to be kidnapped."
All eyes turned upon Cranbourne as he made this announcement.
"How the devil do you know that?" exclaimed Barraclough.
Nugent Cassis answered the question.