Harkness replied firmly. "Mr. Crispin, I had every right to act as I have done, and I only wish to God that it had been successful. It is true that when I came down to Cornwall yesterday I had no knowledge of you or your affairs, but, in the Treliss hotel, quite inadvertently, I overheard a conversation that showed me quite plainly that it was some one's place to interfere. What I have seen of you since that time, if you will forgive the personality, has only strengthened my conviction that interference--immediate and drastic--was most urgently necessary. "Thanks to the fog we have failed. For Dunbar and myself we are for the moment in your power. Do what you like with us, but at least have some pity on this child here who has done you no wrong." "Very fine, very fine," said Crispin. "Mr. Harkness, you have a style--an excellent style--and I congratulate you on having lost almost completely your American accent--a relief for all of us. But come, come, this has lasted long enough. I would point out to you two gentlemen that, as one of you has already discovered, any sort of resistance is quite useless. We will go upstairs. One of my servants first--you two gentlemen next, my other servant following, then my daughter-in-law and myself. Please, gentlemen." He said something in a foreign tongue. One Japanese started upstairs, Harkness and Dunbar followed. There was nothing else at that moment to be done. Only at the top of the stairs Dunbar turned and cried: "Buck up, Hesther. It will be all right." And she cried back in a voice marvellously clear and brave: "I'm not frightened, David; don't worry." Harkness had a momentary impulse to turn, dash down the stairs again and run for the window as Dunbar had done; but as though he knew his thought the Japanese behind him laid his hand on his arm; the thin fingers pressed like steel. At the upper floor Dunbar was led one way, himself another. One Japanese, his hand still on his arm, opened a door and bowed. Harkness entered. The door closed. He found himself in total obscurity. II He did not attempt to move about the room, but simply sank down on to the floor where he was. He was in a state of extreme physical weariness--his body ached from head to foot--but his brain was active and urgent. This was the first time to himself that he had had--with the exception of his cliff climbing--since his leaving the hotel last evening, and he was glad of the loneliness. The darkness seemed to help him; he felt that he could think here more clearly; he sat there, huddled up, his back against the wall, and let his brain go.