William T. Brandt seemed as fascinated by the cascade of notes as Gillian. When the paper stopped sliding and rustling, each stared as if hypnotised, while Lodwin looked triumphantly into Gillian’s face, his expression making it clear that he was certain that she could not hold out any further.

He didn’t know the difficulty with Old Smith, Gillian thought.

He couldn’t possibly know that the farmhouse was worth no more than five thousand, could he ?

“Miss Selby,” remarked the Texan, “that’s a large sum of money, and I come from a State where they respect money and a good business-man. I guess you’re a good businesswoman. If you are, then you’ll be asking yourself right now why it is this fat creep is ready to pay you fifteen thousand pounds for property which isn’t worth a penny more than ten thousand? I guess there must be some good reason. If you take my advice you’ll try to find out what it is before you close any deal with him.”

Lodwin now glared at the Texan.

Gillian actually shivered.

That was as much because of the expression in the dark-clad man’s eyes as anything. He looked as if he could kill; looked as if he was ready to kill just then. His right hand had moved towards the inside breast pocket of his coat. It stayed there. The Texan watched him steadily, and it was almost as if he was willing him not to thrust his hand further inside the jacket.

The two men seemed to have forgotten Gillian.

Ten minutes ago, they had fought that swift, bitter battle with their fists. Now it seemed as if they were fighting with their eyes and their minds, and that it could be just as deadly. She wished they were a thousand miles from here. That telephone voice intruded again, with everything that it implied. Gillian was completely confused, although she knew that the Texan was right: before she made any decision, she ought to know why these men thought that the farm was of such value.