ing, his wonderful, keen eyes riveted upon Philip. "Can I buy you, I wonder, or threaten you?"
"That rather depends upon what it is you want from me?"
"I want you to leave this country and never set foot in it again. That's what I want of you. I want you to get back to your London slums and write your stuff there and have it played in your own poky little theatres. I want you out of New York, and I want you out quick."
"Then I am afraid," Philip regretted, "that we are wasting time. I haven't the least intention of leaving New York."
"Well, we'll go through the rigmarole," Power continued gruffly. "We've got to understand one another. There's my cheque book in that safe. A million dollars if you leave this country—alone—within twenty-four hours, and stay away for the rest of your life."
Philip raised his eyebrows. He was lounging slightly against the desk.
"I should have no use for a million dollars, Mr. Power," he said. "If I had, I should not take it from you, and further, the conditions you suggest are absurd."
"Bribery no good, eh?" Mr. Power observed. "What about threats? There was a man once who wrote a letter to a certain woman, which I found. I killed him a few days afterwards. There was a sort of a scuffle, but it was murder, right enough. I am nearer the door than you are, and I should say about three times as strong. How would a fight suit you?"
Ware's hand was in his overcoat pocket.
