She seized Richard's arm and stifled the cry he gave with her other hand. "Hush, hush, for pity's sake," she implored. "Here's some champagne--drink it. No, no, it isn't poison--drink--drink," and she filled a glass that stood upon the table. "Eat these biscuits too, and listen to me." Of course he did not understand. He drank the champagne and ate the biscuits wolfishly while she talked. It was clear something had happened--some unlooked for reversal of feeling--but beside the food and drink nothing seemed to matter. The good wine felt like new life blood flowing through his veins. "They're downstairs now," she said. "Making up their minds." He found intelligence enough to ask: "They know I'm not Barraclough?" "I told them, yes." "You shouldn't," he said simply. "I thought they'd let you go." "Well?" He refilled his glass. "They said it wouldn't be possible now. That's why I've got to get you away--somehow--somehow." She was moving desperately up and down the room as though by very desire she would create an opening in the walls. "Get me away!" he said stupidly. "Why do you want to get me away?" "Because you're a different man, a splendid man. And they're beasts and brutes." It was all very confusing, very unbelievable. Richard had a faint impression that it was happening to someone else or in a dream. Why was this wonderful creature worrying about him. The wine was mounting to his head. "A splendid man," he repeated senselessly. "And you want to get me away. Tha's kind--kind." "I've a car outside if we could only reach it." That was a droll thing to say, but it sounded real. He answered as though someone had actually spoken of a car outside and a chance of reaching it. "Not a hope." The bottle was empty now, which was a good thing. "There must be. The windows!" He shook his head as she ran toward them. If the beautiful lady wanted to play the escape game he might as well take an intelligent interest and play it sensibly. "No good," said he. "Soon as you lift the shutter bar an alarm starts ringing and they all rush in." "S'pose we did that," said Auriole with a sudden idea. "Worked in the dark, started the bell, and when they came in made a dash for it." Sensible talk this, he must reply sensibly. "No good. One of 'em always stands in the door." "Then somehow we must get them away from the door into your bedroom." That was logical, interesting, too. "Of course we must get them away from the door. Tha's the idea. Tha's the idea," he said. "Oh! can't you think of a way?" she begged. It wasn't fair to ask questions. The game was of her invention, not his. Still, in common politeness one must take a hand, show a willingness. It would be awful if she lost patience with him and left him to his loneliness. He answered that unspoken fear simply as a child. "But you won't leave me alone again, will you?" "Can't you realise I'm on your side," she said, shaking him by the arm.