Neale now began to develop theories. If a mere tiny crumb of that loaf could put a sparrow, a remarkably vigorous and physically strong little bird--to sleep within a minute or two, what effect would, say, a good thick slice of it produce upon a human being? Anyway, the probability was that the captive in that room was lying in a heavily drugged condition, and that that was the reason of his silence. He would wake--and surely some sound, however faint, would come. He himself would wait--listening. The morning wore on--he waited, watched, listened. None came--nothing had happened. He ate more of his chocolate. He read the book on explosives. It interested him deeply--so deeply that in spite of his anxiety, his hunger, his uncertainty as to what might happen, sooner or later, he became absorbed in it. And once more he was called from its pages by the sparrows. The sparrows were coming to life. After lying stupefied for some four or five hours they were showing signs of animation. One by one they were moving, staggering to their feet, beginning to chirp. And as he watched them, first one and then the other got the use of its wings; and, finally, with one consent, they flew off to the open window--to disappear. Thereafter, Neale listened more keenly than ever for any sound from that mysterious room. But no sound came. The afternoon passed wearily away; the light began to fail, and at last he had to confess to himself that the waiting, the being always on the alert, the enforced seclusion and detention, the desire for proper food and drink--especially the latter--was becoming too much for him, and that his nerves were beginning to suffer. Was Joseph Chestermarke never coming? Had he gone off somewhere?--possibly leaving a dead man behind, whose body was only a few yards away. There was no spark of comfort visible save one. Old Rob Walford would be home late that night from Wymington--sooner or later he would hear of Neale's disappearance and he would sharpen his naturally acute wits and come to the right conclusion. Yet--that might be as far off as tomorrow. As the darkness came, Neale, now getting desperate for want of food, was suddenly startled by two sounds which, coming abruptly at almost the same time, made him literally jump. One--the first--was a queer thump, thump, thump, which seemed to be both close at hand and yet a thousand miles away. The second was Joseph Chestermarke's voice in the garden outside--heard clearly through the open window. He was bidding somebody to tell a cab-driver to wait for him at the foot of the bridge. The next minute, Neale heard a key plunged into the outer door--before it turned, he, following out a scheme which he had decided on during his long watch, had leaped behind the screen that stood near the furnace. Ere the door could open, he was safely hidden--and in that second he heard the thumping repeated and knew that it came from the inner room.