“No, I won’t,” repeated Brick. His voice was a trifle hoarse, but resolute. “I know what you’re after, but you shan’t succeed. You’ve robbed me of enough money as it is. I won’t help you to get any more out of my father——”
The words were cut suddenly short, for Bogle had fastened on the lad’s throat with the ferocity of a bloodhound. He shook him to and fro, dragged him half across the room, and then pitched him roughly on the bed.
Brick staggered to his feet. His face was purple, and he gasped painfully for breath. He glanced around him, but every avenue of escape was barred.
“Have you had enough?” demanded Bogle. “Are you ready to write now?”
“No,” came hoarsely from Brick’s lips.
The brutal treatment had only made him more dogged and determined.
With a savage exclamation, Bogle sprang forward. But before he could reach the lad, Raikes slipped between the two.
“Hold on, Joe,” he pleaded. “You’re going about it the wrong way. Violence won’t do any good. Try persuasion.”
“Persuasion be hanged,” growled Bogle. “I’ll bring the obstinate young fool to terms mighty quick. Stand aside, Silas.”
But Raikes did not move. He held his ground, and kept his angry companion at arm’s length.