“No. It’s a friend who will save you from the police.” She did not say anything. She must be suspecting a trap. He went on in a yet more urgent whisper: “You’re in the hands of the police. If you don’t follow me it means the court and prison.” “No. The magistrate will let me go free.” “He won’t let you go free. Two men have been murdered. Your blouse is covered with blood. Come along—a moment’s hesitation may destroy you. Come along!” he insisted. After a few seconds’ silence she murmured: “My hands are bound.” Crawling along and hugging the darkness as he crawled he cut her bonds with his knife and asked in a whisper: “Can they actually see you?” “Only the policeman when he turns round,” she replied. “And he can’t see me very well, for I’m in the shadow. As for the others, they’re too far to the left.” “That’s all right,” he said with a sigh of relief; then: “Wait a moment! Listen!” They heard the sound of feet coming along the platform; he recognized the voice of Marescal. “Not a movement!” he said in low, imperative accents. “They’re coming sooner than I expected. Lie still.” “Oh! I’m frightened!” the girl muttered. “It seems to me that that voice—Oh, dear! Can it be possible?” “Yes,” he muttered. “It’s the voice of your enemy, Marescal. But you mustn’t be frightened. Don’t you remember this afternoon, on the Boulevard, that a man interposed between you and him. It was me. I beg you not to be frightened.” “But he’ll come in here,” she quavered. “We don’t know that.” “But if he does come in?” “Pretend to be asleep, or to have fainted. Bury your head between your crossed arms. Don’t stir,” he urged. “But if he tries to get a look at me. Suppose he recognizes me?” she muttered in a harried tone. “Don’t answer him. Whatever happens, don’t say a word. Marescal will not act immediately. He will take time to consider what to do. And then——” But he was not at all easy in mind. He thought it more than likely that Marescal would be anxious to know whether he had made a mistake, or not, and whether the robber was really a woman. He would then start to question her at once, and in any case, considering her insecurely imprisoned, inspect her prison himself. He was right. At once the Commissary exclaimed in a joyful tone: “Well, station master, this is good news! You’ve got a prisoner, have you, and an important prisoner too. Beaucourt railway station is going to become celebrated. You seem to me to have selected a very good place to confine him in; indeed, I don’t see how you could have done better. But just to make sure, I’m going to take a look myself.” So without the loss of a moment, as Ralph had foreseen, he set about making sure. It was a terrible game for a young girl to be called on to play: a movement or two, a word or two, and she would be irremediably lost.