He straightened himself and cast a quick look round the room. On the wall hung a large coloured portrait of King Edward VII, poorly disguised as a British Admiral. Mr. Bascombe lifted it down with a delicate care that may have been due to loyalty, and swiftly unfastened the thick wire by which it had been suspended. From this he twisted off a piece about ten inches in length, and, picking up the palette knife from the table, resumed his crouching position in front of the door. For about a minute and a half he remained in this attitude, a faint scratching noise and his own heavy breathing being the only audible indications of his labour. Then suddenly came a grating sound, followed a moment later by a sharp click. Mr. Bascombe did not wait to see if he had been overheard. Rising quickly and silently to his feet, he opened the door just wide enough to enable him to reconnoitre his position. Except for a black cat luxuriously scratching herself in the sunshine, the roadway opposite was empty. A swift glance up and down showed him there was no one nearer than the post office. Without a trace of hurry or nervousness he stepped out and closed the door behind him. A moment later with magnificent unconcern he was sauntering slowly down the street. The few people that he passed paid no particular attention to him. A sunburned, holiday-making clergyman, with smiling countenance and leisurely gait, is almost as common a sight in Princetown as a convict. Stopping now and then to look into the shop windows, he pursued his unhurried way until he reached the corner of the street opposite the Moorlands Hotel. Till that moment the problem of what to do with his liberty had not crossed Mr. Bascombe's mind. His faculties had been wholly absorbed in the delicious and unwonted sense of freedom to which he had been so long a stranger. But the sight of that large gold-lettered inscription upon the white building on the other side of the street brought him back to more practical considerations. It suggested to him that liberty, especially liberty of such a precarious nature as his was likely to prove, should be put to prompt and satisfactory service. Being a gentleman of action, he did not wait upon his thoughts. Moistening his lips, he crossed the road, and still with the same deliberate dignity mounted the two or three stone steps that led into the hotel. A large, fat-faced waiter who was standing just inside saw him coming and pulled open the door of the comfortably furnished lounge, bowing obsequiously as he did so. Mr. Bascombe entered, and looked round with the air of a man well pleased with his environment. "I want to see the landlord," he remarked. Again the waiter bowed. "Yes, sir, I will fetch him, sir. Will you take a seat for a moment?" He indicated a large, comfortable-looking ottoman upholstered in green leather.