centre of the struggle. That curtain rose as unexpectedly as it fell. In

the late afternoon he was called to the window by the clatter of a cab,

that stopped without. A young man descended, and in another minute stood

before him in the room, a slightly built young man of thirty perhaps,

clean shaven, well dressed, well mannered.

"Mr. Redwood, Sir," he began, "would you be willing to come to Mr.

Caterham? He needs your presence very urgently."

"Needs my presence!" There leapt a question into Redwood's mind, that

for a moment he could not put. He hesitated. Then in a voice that broke

he asked: "What has he done to my Son?" and stood breathless for the

reply.

Your Son, Sir? Your Son is doing well. So at least we gather."

Doing well?"

He was wounded, Sir, yesterday. Have you not heard?"

Redwood smote these pretences aside. His voice was no longer coloured by

fear, but by anger. "You know I have not heard. You know I have heard

nothing."

Mr. Caterham feared, Sir--It was a time of upheaval. Every one--taken

by surprise. He arrested you to save you, Sir, from any misadventure--"

The Food of the Gods and How It Came to Earth