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John Sairson sat brooding in his club for the best part of an hour after the receipt of Gosway's message. All his life he had been accustomed to his own way. He had fought for it as a child; he had schemed for it in his early manhood. Now he was strong enough to take it ruthlessly and unfalteringly without regard to the feelings of others. He laughed to himself as he saw the trouble and misery he left behind him.
The man was a bully to the finger-tips, he boasted of his strength and courage. Yet in his heart of hearts he was a coward--and he knew it. He was afraid--physically afraid--and the consciousness of it galled him.