“It requires some developing. . . . For Heaven’s sake, Hayward,” exclaimed Risk, with unwonted warmth, “try to believe that I’d give all I have if I could get the poor girl out of that cad’s clutches without an hour’s delay!” “You will trust my brother, won’t you?” said Hilda softly, and next moment Colin was silently wringing Risk’s hand. Somehow, he could not doubt this man. “And what can I do?” he asked presently. “Though it may seem out of place, I want you now to tell me the results of your journey. Also let me have the films you exposed. By the way,” Risk went on, “West has got a week’s leave, and is going to spend a few days in the neighbourhood of Dunford. He’s unknown there, and another flying visit from you might seem more than odd to some people—besides, I want you here. Only, I’d like you to see West before he starts by the midnight train—you may be able to give him some hints about the district, and so on. Therefore, we’ll get on with our talk, and you can be over at Euston soon after 11.30. He expects you. He would have come here, but he had an appointment with the manager of the Planet Theatre—” “You see,” put in Hilda, “we are so sure of having Kitty with us again, almost immediately, that the play is going forward as if nothing had happened.” It is to be feared that Colin did not find much comfort in the remark, but at least it reminded him once more that a cool head was then of greater value to Kitty’s cause than all the warm hearts in the world. Though he could not have stated why, he was feeling a little less cheerless when he left Aberdare Mansions for the meeting with West. He was noting in his mind certain suggestions which he thought might be of use to his friend, and absentmindedly looking out for a taxi-cab, when one appeared and came to the pavement in response to his signal. “Euston,” he said and got in. But as he was about to draw to the door, a hand was laid on it and a voice requested the driver to “Hold on.” “Excuse me,” continued the voice, which belonged to a shabby, genteel, sharp-featured young man, “but I think you are Mr. Colin Hayward.” An uncleanly hand presented an envelope. “What’s this?” muttered Colin, then seized it with a start. It was the covering of a note he had sent Kitty a week ago. “Where did you get this?” he demanded. “Through a barred window,” was the answer. “The lady told me what you were like, and where I’d be likely to find you—this isn’t the first place I’ve tried—and she gave me a sovereign, and she said you would be sure to give me another, sir.” An unclean palm slid forward hopefully. “But look here,” cried Colin, his heart thumping, “there’s no message written here! Have you lost—” “The lady said she had nothing to write with, but she said you would surely understand and come quick.” Colin drew a long breath. “Where is—the barred window?” “Gimme the sovereign, please, and I’ll show you. It’s not far.”