"Keeping me here," Thun went on, "is part of the plot of the Italian government. Naturally, they do not wish me to get at my enemies, who I have every reason to believe are in London." Mr. Briggerland drew a long breath. "They are in London," he said a little hoarsely. "I happen to know where they are." "Really?" said the other easily, and then a cloud passed over his face and he shook his head. "They are safe from my vengeance," he said a little sadly. "As long as they keep me in this place pretending that I am mad, there is no possible chance for me." The visitor looked round and saw that the three men who were following were out of ear shot. "Suppose I came to-morrow night," he said, lowering his voice, "and helped you to get away? What is your ward?" "No. 6," said the other in the same tone. His eyes were blazing. "Do you think you will remember?" asked Briggerland. Thun nodded. "You will come to-morrow night--No. 6, the first cubicle on the left," he whispered, "you will not fail me? If I thought you'd fail me----" His eyes lit up again. "I shall not fail you," said Mr. Briggerland hastily. "When the clock strikes twelve you may expect me." "You must be Marshal Foch," murmured Thun, and then with all a madman's cunning, changed the conversation as the doctor and attendants, who had noticed his excitement, drew nearer. "Believe me, Mr. Briggerland," he went on airily, "the strategy of the Allies was at fault until I took up the command of the army...." Ten minutes later Mr. Briggerland was in his car driving homeward, a little breathless, more than a little terrified at the unpleasant task he had set himself; jubilant, too, at his amazing success. Jean had said he might have to visit a dozen asylums before he found his opportunity and the right man, and he had succeeded at the first attempt. Yet--he shuddered at the picture he conjured--that climb over the high wall (he had already located the ward, for he had followed the General and the attendants and had seen him safely put away), the midnight association with a madman.... He burst in upon Jean with his news. "At the first attempt, my dear, what do you think of that?" His dark face glowed with almost childish pride, and she looked at him with a half-smile. "I thought you would," she said quietly. "That's the rough work done, at any rate." "The rough work!" he said indignantly. She nodded. "Half the difficulty is going to be to cover up your visit to the asylum, because this man is certain to mention your name, and it will not all be dismissed as the imagination of a madman. Now I think I will make my promised call upon Mrs. Meredith." Chapter XIII