He was deadly cold, but had hardly noticed the fact. It was all so incredible, so impossible. He expected to wake up and wondered if the prison was also part of the dream. Now he saw the point for which Kara was making. A white steam yacht, long and narrow of beam, was steaming slowly westward. He could see the feathery wake in her rear, and as the aeroplane fell he had time to observe that a boat had been put off. Then with a jerk the monoplane flattened out and came like a skimming bird to the surface of the water; her engines stopped. “We ought to be able to keep afloat for ten minutes,” said Kara, “and by that time they will pick us up.” His voice was high and harsh in the almost painful silence which followed the stoppage of the engines. In less than five minutes the boat had come alongside, manned, as Lexman gathered from a glimpse of the crew, by Greeks. He scrambled aboard and five minutes later he was standing on the white deck of the yacht, watching the disappearing tail of the monoplane. Kara was by his side. “There goes fifteen hundred pounds,” said the Greek, with a smile, “add that to the two thousand I paid the warder and you have a tidy sum-but some things are worth all the money in the world!” CHAPTER VII T. X. came from Downing Street at 11 o'clock one night, and his heart was filled with joy and gratitude. He swung his stick to the common danger of the public, but the policeman on point duty at the end of the street, who saw him, recognized and saluted him, did not think it fit to issue any official warning. He ran up the stairs to his office, and found Mansus reading the evening paper. “My poor, dumb beast,” said T. X. “I am afraid I have kept you waiting for a very long time, but tomorrow you and I will take a little journey to Devonshire. It will be good for you, Mansus--where did you get that ridiculous name, by the way!” “M. or N.,” replied Mansus, laconically. “I repeat that there is the dawn of an intellect in you,” said T. X., offensively. He became more serious as he took from a pocket inside his waistcoat a long blue envelope containing the paper which had cost him so much to secure. “Finding the revolver was a master-stroke of yours, Mansus,” he said, and he was in earnest as he spoke. The man coloured with pleasure for the subordinates of T. X. loved him, and a word of praise was almost equal to promotion. It was on the advice of Mansus that the road from London to Lewes had been carefully covered and such streams as passed beneath that road had been searched. The revolver had been found after the third attempt between Gatwick and Horsley. Its identification was made easier by the fact that Vassalaro's name was engraved on the butt. It was rather an ornate affair and in its earlier days had been silver plated; the handle was of mother-o'-pearl. “Obviously the gift of one brigand to another,” was T. X.'s comment.