He took her hands in his then. They were as cold as ice. She scarcely looked beautiful. The agony she was undergoing had distorted her features. "Wait here. I shall not be long." He left the room, closing the door behind him. Marjorie stood with her back to it, supporting herself against it. Rupert stared round the room, crossed to the conservatory door and closed it. He pulled the curtain at the window closer. He picked up the decanter of whisky as if to help himself again, but changed his mind and put it down. Twice he tried to speak, but no words issued from his lips. "Sit down, dear," Marjorie said, striving to regain her normal voice. "You must be very tired." He nodded his head but remained standing. Jim was absent a long time. Now and then sounds they would not have heard under ordinary circumstances startled the brother and sister waiting in the drawing-room—waiting far apart. Once they had been all in all to one another; now a third person stood between them, and in his hands lay Rupert’s life. At last Rupert spoke. "I can’t stand this much longer. Marjorie, open the door and let me go. I’m asking too much. Let me go and take my chance." She shook her head. "Wait." At last Jim returned. He left the door open and beckoned to Rupert. "Follow me." The convict glanced at him. There was no need to question. He crossed the room on tip-toe, holding his breath. His expression was that of a hunted animal, his movements the same. The door closed and Marjorie was alone. An hour passed, but now she was unconscious of time. She sat on the Chesterfield staring into space. She was only conscious of Jim’s presence when she felt his arms around her. "Father may return any moment," he said. She heard a sob of fear in his voice, it had changed. She did not recognise it as the voice of her lover. "I’m afraid you must go. Before you go I must tell you what I’ve done and what I hope to do. Listen, dear—and remember." "I am listening, Jim." "You know my workroom at the back of the house, just underneath my bedroom? It was built out for me just before I joined the R.F.C. Underneath it is a cellar where I keep a few things stored—plant, bits of machinery, petrol, and so forth. Some of the plant I want for my experiments is there and a small furnace. The entrance to my workroom is always locked and the way to the cellar bolted and padlocked, too. I’ve hidden him there, in the cellar. Binks, my bull terrier, always sleeps in the workroom. He knows Rupert, remembered him and made friends at once. He would give warning if anyone approached.... I’ve given Rupert a change of clothes and food—enough of the latter to last him twenty-four hours in case of need. I spend half the day in my workroom always, so—he won’t feel lonely. A fortnight or three weeks at least must pass before we can dream of escape. He can change his appearance in that time, too."