The next moment the two were safely round the corner in the shadows, the precious file gripped tightly in Mr. Priestley’s chilled hand. He set to work on a link of the chain which held the two cuffs together. Their position was not an easy one and the rasping of the file chafed both their wrists unpleasantly, but it was no time to worry over little things like that. Ten minutes later he was still working. But by now he was nice and warm. Laura, on the other hand, was still cold, and getting colder every minute. “Is it going to take a dreadful time?” she asked at last, her lips blue and her teeth chattering volubly. Mr. Priestley desisted from his efforts. He felt the file with his fingers and then, confirming a horrid theory, held it up against the light from the window. “I’m afraid it is,” he said dolefully. “At least, with this file. You see, the steel of the handcuffs is evidently harder than the file. What is happening is that the cuffs are filing away the file.” “Oh!” said Laura, and thought unprintable things. “And she said it was her only one,” remarked Mr. Priestley morosely. “_Damn_ that policeman!” he added with sudden vehemence. They stared at one another. “Well, anyhow,” said Laura, “I’m not going to step outside any longer. I’m going in. You can tell the landlady anything you like—that we did it for a bet, or that we only got married this morning and the clergyman put them on by mistake instead of the ring. I don’t _care_. I’m going in to that fire. Come on!” Mr. Priestley, having no option except brute force, came. The landlady was still bustling about in the kitchen as they entered her presence, walking delicately and with hands still affectionately clasped. Under their coat-sleeves the handcuffs nestled out of sight. “Well, sir, have you mended your motor?” asked the little landlady cheerfully, adding in the same breath, “Your supper’s quite ready. If you want me, just call up the stairs. I know you’d like to be alone, wouldn’t you?” This was said with an arch smile, to which both her guests failed signally to respond. “Thank you,” mumbled Mr. Priestley. “Thank you.” A solicitous look replaced the arch expression on the kindly little woman’s face. “Why, good gracious me!” she exclaimed in horror. “You’re wet through, both of you!” Mr. Priestley moved uneasily. “Yes,” he muttered. “A—a little bit, yes. We—er—ran into a storm.” “Well, you can’t have your supper like that, and that’s a fact,” said the landlady with unwelcome decision. “You just slip your wet things off and put them to dry in front of the fire, and I’ll run up and get you each a nice warm coat or something. You’ll catch your death of cold if you’re not careful.” Mr. Priestley’s uneasiness became more pronounced. It also says much for Laura’s state of mind that she had not to trouble to hide a smile. Laura was not feeling very like smiling at the moment.