There was something vaguely threatening about the bulky figure of
the man standing gloomily upon the hearth rug, all the spurious good
nature gone from his face, his brows knitted, his cheeks hanging a
little and unusually pale. Wingate paused on the threshold of the room
and his hand crept into his pocket. Phipps seemed to notice the gesture
and shook his head.
"Nothing quite so crude, Wingate," he said. "I know an enemy when I see
one, but I wasn't thinking of getting rid of you that way."
"I have found it necessary," Wingate remarked slowly, "to be prepared for
all sorts of tricks when I am up against anybody as conscienceless as
you. I don't want you here, Phipps. I didn't ask you to come and see me.
I've nothing to discuss with you."
"There are times," Phipps replied, "when the issue which cannot be
fought out to the end with arms can be joined in the council chamber. I
have come to know your terms."
Wingate shook his head.
"I don't understand. It is too soon for this sort of thing. You are not
beaten yet."
"I am tired," his visitor muttered. "May I sit down?"
"You are an unwelcome guest," Wingate replied coldly, "but sit if you
will. Then say what you have to say and go."
Phipps sank into an easy-chair. It was obvious that he was telling the
truth so far as regarded his fatigue. He seemed to have aged ten years.
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