Long after they had left his office, Barclay's voice haunted them.

His face was set and his eyes steady and small, and the vertical wrinkle in his brow was as firm as an old scar.

He limped about the room quickly, but his strong foot thumped the floor with a thud that punctuated his words.
They left, and he sat down to write a letter to Bob Hendricks telling him the plan.

He had finished two pages when General Hendricks came in a-tremble and breathless.

The eyes of the two men met, and Hendricks replied:-- "It's Brownwell--the fat's in the fire, John.