“I believe you know,” said Jane, speaking slowly. “Was it a woman?” said Molloy. He dropped his voice to a whisper and looked over his shoulder. Jane nodded. “Glory be to God!” said Molloy. “Did you see her face?” Jane nodded again. Molloy came quite close, bent down, and whispered: “Was it the old man’s daughter? Was it”—his voice dropped to the very edge of inaudibility—“was it Lady Heritage?” Jane nodded for the third time. Molloy spun round, went straight to the steel door, and, opening it, looked up the passage. After a moment he came back. “You saw her face? Will you swear that you saw her face?” “Yes, of course.” “Then you’ve seen more than I have. Do you know, I’ve never been sure. I’ve never really been sure. Ember’s talk, and—it was her face you saw, not that mask thing they wear in the laboratory, for that’s all I’ve seen? You saw her face?” “Yes, I saw her face quite plainly,” said Jane. In her own mind something seemed to say with cold finality, “Then Lady Heritage is Number One.” “Well.... Well.... Well.... Well....” said Mr. Molloy. There was a long pause. He seemed lost in thought, but suddenly he turned on Jane with the question which she hoped he had forgotten: “You were saying that there were two others who knew the secret—you saw them down here?—down here in the passages?” “Yes,” said Jane, without hesitation, “I did. They were men. One of them had a beard. I couldn’t tell you their names or describe them any more than that.” Molloy looked desperately puzzled. “Ember may know,” he muttered. “He may,” said Jane. “I should ask him.” Molloy gave a grunt and began to walk up and down again. The simile of the rat in the drain which he had made use of in conversing with Ember came back upon him with unpleasant force. His thoughts were confused by an access of unreasoning fear. Every time the question of what to do with Jane presented itself, he shied away from it. Jane knew too much. There was no doubt about that. She knew too much. In the circles frequented by Mr. Molloy self-preservation dictated a certain course with regard to the person who knew too much. After thirty years Molloy still disliked the contemplation of that course of action. He was of those who pass by upon the other side. He had a well-cultivated faculty for looking the other way. It occurred to him that, after all, Jane was Ember’s affair. Let her go back to the house, she was Ember’s affair, not his. He became instantly very anxious to see the last of Jane. Just as she was wondering how long this rather horrid silence was going to last, he walked up to her in a purposeful manner, put his hand on her arm, and pulled her to her feet. “You’d best be getting back,” he said shortly. Jane felt as if some one had lifted a heavy weight off the top of her head. The weight must have been fear, and yet she did not know that she had been afraid. At the gate Molloy turned to her. “Can you get into the hall?” he said. “Without being seen, I mean.”