"You have
taken our breath away, Wingate. Your amazing assurance has made it
difficult for us to answer you coherently. I am only now beginning to
realise that you are in earnest in this idiotic piece of melodrama, but
if you are--so are we.--You can starve us or shoot us or suffocate us,
but we shall not sell wheat.--By God, we shan't!"
The man seemed for a moment to swell,--his eyes to flash fire. Wingate
shrugged his shoulders.
"I accept your defiance," he announced. "Let us commence our tryst."
Dredlinton struck the table with his fist, Phipps' brave words seemed to
have struck an alien note of fear in his fellow prisoner.
"I will not submit!" he exclaimed. "My health will not stand
it!--Phipps!--Rees!"
There was meaning in his eyes as well as in his tone, a meaning which
Phipps put brutally into words.
"It's no good, Dredlinton," he warned him. "We are going to stick it out,
and you've got to stick it out with us. But," he added, glaring at
Wingate, "remember this. Only half an hour before I was taken, Scotland
Yard rang up to tell me that they thought they had a clue as to Stanley's
disappearance. You risk five years' penal servitude by this freak."
"I am content," was the cool reply.
"But I am not!" Dredlinton shouted, straining at his cords. "I resign!
I resign from the Board! Do you hear that, Wingate? I chuck it! Set me
free!"
"The proper moment for your resignation from the Board of the British and
Imperial Granaries," Wingate told him sternly, "was a matter of six
months ago.
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