She spoke at once: “I have come to ask you about my father’s safety.” For a moment Marcus White gazed from her face to her companion’s, answering nothing. “Why should it be supposed that I am Sir John Westwood’s keeper?” he asked quietly. Herrick broke in: “It is known that you had a strong personal hostility to Miss Westwood’s father, and that a monstrous outrage has been committed, in which you----” Marcus White raised his hand. “You are not addressing a Court of Law,” he said scornfully. “I wish to Heaven I were!” answered the barrister hotly. “And, more than that, I wish you were standing in the dock, where you ought to be.” Aldwyth laid her hand entreatingly on her lover’s arm. “What has this to do with Sir John Westwood?” asked Marcus White, almost indifferently. Aldwyth stepped forward. “I ask you this question: Is my father alive?” “Miss Westwood,” was the slow answer, “I cannot tell you.” “You will be called to account for this,” said Herrick sternly. A roar arose from the mob below the window. “I am being called to account for many things,” said Marcus White, listening, with a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Are you mad?” cried Herrick. The other laughed bitterly. “Perhaps I am. I have played for a great stake and I won the trick, but”--glancing towards the broken windows--” I may not win the rubber.” “Do you refuse to give us any information?” It was Aldwyth who spoke now. “No, I don’t refuse. Your father and those who were with him were left to the mercy of that God in whose name they administer law and justice in this country. Can you complain of that?” He looked at Herrick as he spoke. “What do you mean?” asked Aldwyth breathlessly. “Miss Westwood, can those who are entrusted with the quality of mercy towards their fellow-creatures--can they complain if they are left to the mercy of the elements?” “It is madness and worse than madness--murder!” said Herrick, stepping forward. “You have courage,” answered Marcus White, regarding him. “Perhaps,” he added significantly, “that is why you have been spared.” “But my father!” interrupted Aldwyth. “What is to be done?” Heedless of the tumult without, Marcus White advanced to the table and sat down. He wrote a few lines rapidly. “If you take this to the Admiralty,” he said, “they may be able to get you a report; or, better still, go to the Foreign Secretary. He is more likely to be able to give you information.” He folded the paper and gave it into Aldwyth’s hands. “Let us go at once,” she said, turning to Herrick. As she spoke a great stone came hurtling through the window and smashed the mirror over the mantelpiece. Heavy blows were heard upon a door below. A white-faced, breathless clerk burst into the room. “The mob are threatening to break down the outer door,” he said. “I am afraid,” said White quietly, looking at Herrick, “you have brought Miss Westwood at an awkward moment.” But she answered for herself. “It was I who insisted on coming.”