"What do you want of me? What's your grudge against me?" cried Van Duren, behind the iron door. "Do you want an advance of salary? You shall have it. Twenty pounds a year advance. Do you hear that? Twenty pounds a year. If that's not enough--thirty. Only open the door, and I promise you fifty. Think of that--fifty pounds a year advance!" Still no answer, though he could plainly hear the rattle of crockery, as Pringle proceeded to set out the breakfast-tray. "Come, now, Pringle, we've had enough of this tomfoolery. I'd like to join you over breakfast. I want to tell you my plans. I want to talk things over with you before I go. Open the door, there's a good fellow."
The only notice Pringle took of this appeal was to turn the gas three parts off at the meter, the effect of which was to reduce the jet in the strong-room to a mere point of flame, and so leave Van Duren in almost total darkness. "One had need be economical in these days," muttered Pringle to himself. "Gas is very expensive."
For a few moments Van Duren was silent. It might be that he began to despair, that he began to see how useless any further appeals would be, that it began to dawn on his mind what Pringle's purpose really was. But in a little while he spoke again. "Pringle, Pringle, I say, where are you? What have I done to you that you should serve me like this? Fiend--monster--bloodthirsty villain! If you want to get rid of me, knock me on the head and have done with it. Don't leave me here to starve. That is too horrible!"
"These eggs are hardly as fresh as they might be, for all I gave twopence each for 'em," muttered Pringle! "But that's the worst of London eggs--you never can depend on 'em." Then he made himself some toast, taking care not to spare the butter, and presently everything was ready for him to begin. "I like my coffee made ally Frongsey," he said, contemplatively. "It's certainly an improvement on the old English style. Those Frenchmen don't know a great deal, but they do know how to make coffee."
When everything was ready for him to sit down to, he walked along the passage to the iron door and rapped at it with his knuckles. "Max Van Duren, are you there?" he said, simply and sternly.
Van Duren, who had been silent for some little while, responded eagerly. "Yes, yes, Pringle, I am here! I knew it was only one of your queer practical jokes."
"I am now going to get my breakfast, after which I shall smoke a pipe. When I have finished my pipe, I will come and have some talk with you. Till then you may as well be silent, and behave like a reasonable being." With that he turned on his heel.
"Pringle, my good fellow, don't leave me here all that time; don't leave me here in the dark in this horrible den!" But Pringle was gone already, and this time he shut behind him the wooden door at the foot of the stairs that opened into the passage, and then he shut the kitchen door, so as to ensure himself still further against being disturbed; then he rubbed his hands with an air of enjoyment, and proceeded to pour out his coffee.
He took half an hour for his breakfast, and another half-hour for the pipe that followed, and then he told himself that he was ready for business. All this time the prisoner in the strong-room had maintained the most perfect silence.
Opening the outer door, Pringle traversed the passage, and, as before, rapped with his knuckles on the inner door. As before, he said, "Max Van Duren, are you there?"