"Because, by the greatest good luck, I met her on her way to do so," answered Nugent promptly. "It was on the day of the picnic--immediately after the discovery of the body. I was aware of her relations with the dead man, from what was said when we lunched at the Manor, and I guessed what she was up to. I managed to throw dust in her eyes for the time, and have contrived to hold her in check since, but she is growing restive, and threatens to appear at the adjourned inquest." Leslie stared dully at the speaker. He could almost feel the hangman's noose at his neck. The bright vision of an hour ago had faded into Cimmerian gloom. Nugent's clever face suggested the only possible source of the advice of which he stood in such urgent need, and, almost against his will, the question escaped him-- "What had I better do?" "Cut and run for it. Avoid arrest at any price," was the ready reply. "But I am not guilty. I did not murder the little Jew." "You cannot prove that," Nugent rejoined, with a flicker of his hateful smile. "Besides," he added, "consider the execration you would incur in attempting to do so. What would your life be worth to you if you managed to save it by confessing your share in the Violet Maynard project?" Leslie could frame no reply, and while he sought for one, a tiny sound, that under other circumstances would have been disregarded, reached his ears. Nugent, who was further from the door, evidently had not heard it. Somewhere about half-way up the staircase a loose board creaked, but the sound had been preceded by no footfall, nor, though he listened intently, could Leslie detect that it was followed by one. Some instinct, which he did not attempt to analyse then, but which he afterwards knew was a desire to dissociate himself from Nugent in any danger which that creaking stair might portend, prompted him not to call attention to it. But, to prevent any chance of the remainder of their conversation being overheard, he turned and closed the door smartly. "If I make a bolt of it, where am I to bolt to?" he asked, lowering his voice and stepping to the table. A gleam of triumph, instantly suppressed, flashed in Nugent's eyes. "I have considered that most carefully," he replied. "At the first hint of your departure, in the ordinary way, Louise Aubin would go to the police, and you would be traced and arrested. I propose, if you assent, to utilize the _Cobra_ for your flight. She is the property of the Maharajah, and Bhagwan Singh is as much interested in covering up his attempt to gain an English bride by force as we are ourselves. Now that the vessel won't be wanted for her original purpose, she may as well earn her upkeep by helping to preserve the secret of our abortive scheme. Once smuggled aboard safely, she could put you ashore at some South American port, where you might carve out a new career, though you must forgive my saying that I doubt your success in any undertaking."