Again he laughed. At that moment a policeman passed him and turning his head looked at him. Rupert was standing just outside a shop. Hardly knowing what he was doing he bolted into it. The next moment he cursed himself for a fool and a coward. A huge glass mirror showed him his reflection. He stared at it fascinated. He looked no more like a convict than he looked like the old Rupert Dale he had once known. An assistant’s voice behind the counter asking him what he wanted brought him back to the needs of the moment. By good fortune the shop was a tobacconist’s—and Rupert knew he did want something very badly. A smoke. He bought a four-penny cigar, and the chink of money gave him another strange thrill. He spent an unconscionable time in lighting it, but when he ventured into the street again he found to his relief the policeman had gone. And so eventually he reached the hotel safely and sat down at the open window of the private sitting-room reserved for Lieutenant James Crichton. And there an hour or two later Jim found him. The two men shook hands silently. It was difficult to find words. They had both gone through big ordeals. They had both been fighting against pretty stiff odds. Victory seemed assured. But they were not out of danger yet. Jim had a hot bath and changed, then he told Rupert to do the same. "You will have to get into mufti," he explained to him. "I’ve had a kit-bag sent here, and it contains everything you’ll want for your journey. You remember all I’ve told you? Well, I’ve had to change our plans slightly. You sail to-night on a small boat, about a thousand tons, that’s going East. I’ve booked you as a coffee planter—thanks to working in the fields at Princetown you’ve got a good tan on your face. Your name is John Cotton—which fits in with the initials on my bag. I thought it out as I was filling my ’baccy pouch——" He laughed. "For heaven’s sake, remember—_John Cotton_! You’ll find a book amongst your kit dealing with coffee planting. You’d better study it in case you’re tackled on the subject. The captain of the ship’s a pal of mine. He’s got a box for the theatre to-night, and is bringing a friend. We’re going to join him there, and after the show, in the middle of supper, we’re all to walk down to the Barbican Steps, where the captain’s dinghy will be waiting.... Captain Sparkes is a decent chap, and a sportsman. He knows you’re under a cloud, that’s all he knows. I would have told him the truth, but I couldn’t, for his sake; for if he knew and anything went wrong he would get into no end of a mess. He won’t question you. And once you’re outside Plymouth Sound you’ll know you’re safe." Rupert nodded his head. He could not thank Crichton. Mere words would not convey what he felt. Perhaps Jim knew what was passing in his mind, for he laid his hand on his shoulder a moment, giving it a friendly grip.