“You are at perfect liberty to scream to your heart's content. There is no one here who will mind in the least. You are also at perfect liberty to make what efforts at escape you choose. I fear that you will only find them futile.” He went out quickly and closed the door after him. Kathleen, listening in the badly-lighted room, could hear a key grate in the lock and bolts shot in both at the top and the bottom of the door. Quickly and methodically she made an examination of her prison. She looked into the cupboards and into the drawers and the massive bureau. But there was nothing about the room of the remotest interest to her which offered the faintest suggestion, sinister or otherwise. It was, indeed, only when she looked out of the windows, of which there were three, that she discovered to the full how utterly helpless was her position. The window on the south side was apparently over the window of the dining-room, and, as she peeped over the sill, looked sheer down the face of the precipice beneath her. The west window, she found, looked down into a stone courtyard, while the window on the east overhung the pond. Apparently she was imprisoned in a tower. When Melun had reached the ground floor he sought out Mme. Estelle. “I have not had much opportunity of saying anything to you,” he remarked as he entered the room in which she was sitting, “but I should like to tell you now how splendidly you have done.” Madame was restless and ill at ease. “If I had seen that girl before to-day,” she said, “I should never have brought her here.” “Then you would have been a fool,” said Melun, rudely. “Possibly, but still, even at the risk of your displeasure, there are a few things which I do not care to do.” Melun glanced at her sharply. “Of course,” she continued, “it is too late now. I have made up my mind, and we will go through with it, but frankly, I don't like this business.” “Never mind,” said Melun; “it will not last for ever. To-morrow ought to settle it. I shall go back to town the first thing, starting at about five o'clock, as I shall have to make a _détour_. I have changed the number of the car, but still it is hard to say what Westerham may be up to. If he finds that his precious motor has not come back to town he may take to advertising it as stolen—which would be awkward.” Madame at this point bade Melun good-night, and the captain sent for Crow. To him he gave instructions to have the car ready at five o'clock, but told him that he should drive it back to town himself. “You can serve a better purpose by remaining here,” he said. “For, mark you, I will have no hanky-panky games in this house in my absence. And, mark you, too, I have no desire to have Mme. Estelle and Lady Kathleen becoming too friendly. You never can rely on women. They are funny creatures, and Madame is far too sympathetic with the girl already. So I shall look to you to stop anything of that sort.