It was one evening, as I knew, not by the darkness about me, for it was always dark, but by the fact that some time since I had had my second meal, when the door of my cell opened, and the clatter of a mug on the brick floor told me that my last meal for the day had come. I didn't move, for hungry as I was the mouldy crust and water didn't rouse my appetite. But I was surprised at the unaccustomed striking of a light. So used had I grown to the darkness that I couldn't keep my eyes open, but screwed them up painfully against the dazzling glare. But little by little blinking them open again, at last I could just bear to look about me. I saw Worthing holding up a lantern, and gazing down at me. I was more surprised than I could express. I couldn't even utter his name, but lay there gaping stupidly, and wondering if it were merely a vision. Presently he spoke, coldly I thought, but deliberately, as though each word was of importance. "If you have quite recovered yourself," he said, "just listen to me. You haven't too much time. First here's a file for those chains. You must work the thing yourself as well as you can. Then here are your knife and pistol. I shall leave the door unlocked. I think you'll know what to do. Good-bye." He was going; but I gasped out his name, and he turned. "Well?" he asked. "But tell me," I said, "what does it mean?" "No time," he replied. "But you must, you _must_," I implored. He was silent a minute or two as though wondering how best to explain the mystery. Then he said icily, "It's pretty simple, Tommy. It means just this, that I'm a thief and a liar." And again he was at the door. But I broke out, struggling at my chains, "Oh, Worthing, my best friend, don't go like this. You've done something terrible for me. What is it? What is it?" "Why," he answered in the same bitter tone, "I've broken my trust, that's all. The Doctor trusted me, and I stole your knife and pistol. Staggers trusted me, because he wanted the evening out, and I've brought you a file and unlocked the door. Good-bye." "Worthing!" I called after him. "For God's sake don't shout like that," he cut in. "Look here," I said more calmly, "you must forgive me. I called you a coward. I didn't mean it." "And I called you a fool, and I did mean it," he said shortly, and was gone. He came back to say, "You have just a week," and left me.