“Larry Green,” he said briefly. “He's coming out next month, too, and we are all fixed up proper. We are going to get the pile and then we're off to South America, and you won't see us for dust.” Though he employed all the colloquialisms which were common, his tone was that of a man of education, and yet there was something in his address which told John as clearly as though the man had confessed as much, that he had never occupied any social position in life. The warder's step on the stones outside reduced them to silence. Suddenly his voice came up the stairs. “Forty-three,” he called sharply, “I want you down here.” John took his paint pot and brush and went clattering down the uncarpeted stairs. “Where's the other man?” asked the warder, in a low voice. “He's upstairs in the back room.” The warder stepped out of the door and looked left and right. Coming up from Princetown was a big, grey car. “Put down your paint pot,” he said. His voice was shaking with excitement. “I am going upstairs. When that car comes abreast of the gate, ask no questions and jump into it. Get down into the bottom and pull a sack over you, and do not get up until the car stops.” The blood rushed to John Lexman's head, and he staggered. “My God!” he whispered. “Do as I tell you,” hissed the warder. Like an automaton John put down his brushes, and walked slowly to the gate. The grey car was crawling up the hill, and the face of the driver was half enveloped in a big rubber mask. Through the two great goggles John could see little to help him identify the man. As the machine came up to the gate, he leapt into the tonneau and sank instantly to the bottom. As he did so he felt the car leap forward underneath him. Now it was going fast, now faster, now it rocked and swayed as it gathered speed. He felt it sweeping down hill and up hill, and once he heard a hollow rumble as it crossed a wooden bridge. He could not detect from his hiding place in what direction they were going, but he gathered they had switched off to the left and were making for one of the wildest parts of the moor. Never once did he feel the car slacken its pace, until, with a grind of brakes, it stopped suddenly. “Get out,” said a voice. John Lexman threw off the cover and leapt out and as he did so the car turned and sped back the way it had come. For a moment he thought he was alone, and looked around. Far away in the distance he saw the grey bulk of Princetown Gaol. It was an accident that he should see it, but it so happened that a ray of the sun fell athwart it and threw it into relief. He was alone on the moors! Where could he go? He turned at the sound of a voice.