Gradually as the minutes passed the truth dawned upon the great half-breed waiting outside.  Against Capper’s wish, probably in defiance of it, Nap was remaining for the operation itself.  Suspicion deepened swiftly to conviction, and a spasm of indignation akin to frenzy took possession of the man.  Doubtless Capper had remonstrated without result, but he—­he, Tawny Hudson—­could compel.  Fiercely he turned and pulled the handle of the door.

It resisted him.  He had not heard the key turned upon him, yet undeniably the door was locked.  Fury entered into him.  Doubtless this also was the work of his enemy.  He seized the handle, twisted, dragged, wrenched, till it broke in his hand and he was powerless.

No one within the room paid any attention to him.  No one came to open; and this fact served to inflame him further.  For a few lurid moments Tawny Hudson saw red.  He gathered his huge bull-frame together and flung the whole weight of it against the resisting wood.  He was powerless to force the lock, as the door opened towards him, but this fact did not discourage him.  It scarcely entered into his reckoning.  He was nothing at the moment but a savage beast beyond all reasoning and beyond control.

The panels resisted his violent onslaught, but he was undaunted.  With scarcely a pause he drew off and prepared for another.  But at the very instant that he was about to hurl himself the second time, a voice spoke on the other side of the door.

“Tawny!”

Tawny stood as if transfixed, his eyes starting, bestial foam upon his lips.

“Tawny!” said the voice again—­the voice of his enemy, curt and imperious.  “Go and find Mr. Bertie, and tell him he is wanted.”

Through the closed door the magic reached the frenzied man.  He remained motionless for a few seconds, but the order was not repeated.  At the end of the interval the magic had done its work.  He turned and slunk away.

A minute later Bertie, very pale and stern, presented himself at the closed door.

“What is it, Nap?”

Contemptuously clear came the answer.  “Nothing here.  Stay where you are, that’s all, and keep that all-fired fool Hudson from spoiling his master’s chances.”

Bertie turned to look at the man who had come up behind him, and in turning saw the door-handle at his feet.

He pointed to it.  “Your doing?”

Hudson shrank under the accusing blue eyes so like his master’s.  He began to whimper like a beaten dog.

Bertie picked up the knob.  “Poor devil!” he muttered; and then aloud:  “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.  Do you call this a man’s game?”

Tawny cringed in abject misery.  He was completely subdued.  With the smallest encouragement he would have grovelled at Bertie’s feet.

Bertie came away from the door and sat down.  His own anxiety was almost insupportable, but he cloaked it with determined resolution.  “Sit down there!” he said, pointing to a distant chair.  “And don’t move until I give you leave.”