"You can pull up those two tables," he added, "and empty out the log basket against the wall. I don't think we shall have much trouble in starting a really satisfactory bonfire. That's the best of these old panelled houses: they burn beautifully when they once catch alight." With an evil grin upon his face, Craill set about the business, while de Roda, clutching the bag of diamonds in his trembling hands, stared vacantly at all three of us. As soon as his instructions had been obeyed Manning picked up the paraffin. Taking out the cork, he poured half the contents of the can on to the wood, and splashed the remainder over the two tables and the wall. Then, bending forward, he placed the stump of candle in the middle of the pile of newspapers. "You see the idea, Dryden?" he remarked, turning to me. "Something after the principle of a delayed fuse. Bar accidents, it will take the candle about ten minutes to burn down. That will afford you a nice comfortable opportunity to say your prayers. It will also give us plenty of time to call for Christine and be well on our way down the estuary before anyone has grasped the important fact that you are in need of assistance." He struck a match, and, having carefully ignited the wick, stepped back to contemplate the result. "For Gawd's sake 'urry up, boss," repeated Craill, more insistently than ever. "There ain't no sense in messin' abaht 'ere--not now we've got the stuff." "You two can start now," replied Manning, "I shall catch you up before you reach the landing-stage." Craill made a movement as if to take the diamonds from de Roda, but with a snarl, almost like that of a wild animal, the latter started away. Manning laughed again. "Mr. de Roda will carry the stones, Craill," he said. "They will be quite safe in his charge." Still hugging the bag fiercely in his arms, de Roda followed his companion to the hall door, and without any further remark from either of them the two men passed out into the darkness. Directly they had gone Manning sauntered up to me. "I think we had better gag you, Dryden," he said thoughtfully. "I want to leave the window open so as to ensure a good draught, and it's just possible that somebody might hear you squealing." Twisting his handkerchief into the shape of a bandage, he stepped up on to the staircase behind me, and, drawing the broad part tightly across my mouth, knotted the ends together at the back of my head. Then, coming round in front of me again, he took a last smiling survey of his handiwork. "Good-bye, my friend," he drawled slowly. "I am afraid you are in for a rather uncomfortable time, but you must try to regard your suffering as a kind of disguised blessing. If there is any truth in what the church teaches us, you will probably find it an excellent preparation for the next world."