Six o’clock came, and there was no further news from the west. Seven o’clock, and the girl’s condition became pitiable. She had borne herself throughout the night with a courage that excited the admiration of the men; but now, as the hour was drawing close, she seemed on the verge of collapse. At half-past seven the telephone bell rang, and Elk answered. It was the Chief of Police at Newbury speaking. “Captain Gordon left Didcot an hour ago,” was the message. “Didcot!” gasped Elk in consternation. He looked at the clock. “An hour ago—and he had to make Gloucester in sixty minutes!” The girl, who had been in the dining-room trying to take coffee which Gordon’s servant had prepared, came into the study, and Elk dared not continue the conversation. “All right,” he said loudly, and smashed down the receiver. “What is the news, Mr. Elk?” The girl’s voice was a wail. “The news,” said Elk, twisting his face into a smile, “is fine!” “What do they say?” she persisted. “Oh, them?” said Elk, looking at the telephone. “That was a friend of mine, asking me if I’d dine with him to-night.” She went back to the dining-room, only half-satisfied, and Elk called the American to him. “Go and get a doctor,” he said in a low voice, “and tell him to bring something that’ll put this young lady to sleep for twelve hours.” “Why?” asked Broad. “Is the news bad?” Elk nodded. “There isn’t a chance of saving this boy—not the ghost of a chance!” he said. CHAPTER XXXVII THE GET-AWAY DICK, with his ear to the floor, heard the words “Frog says he’s got to die,” and his cracked lips parted in a grin. “Have you heard him moving about?” asked Hagn. “No, he’s asleep, I expect,” said another voice. “We shall have to wait for light. We can’t do it in the dark. We shall be killing one another.” This view commended itself to most of the men present. Dick counted six voices. He struck a match for another survey, and again his eye fell upon the cable. And then an inspiration came to him. Moving stealthily across the floor, he reached up, and, gripping the cable, pulled on it steadily. Under his weight, the supporting insulator broke loose. By great good luck it fell upon the heap of rubbish in the fireplace and made no sound. For the next half-hour he worked feverishly, unwrapping the rubber insulation from the wires of the cable, pulling the copper strands free. His hands were bleeding, his nails broken; but after half-an-hour’s hard work, he had the end of the cable frayed. The door opened outward, he remembered with satisfaction, and, lifting the steel plate, he laid it tight against the door, so that whoever entered must step upon it. Then he began to fasten the frayed copper wires of the cable to the rivet holes; and he had hardly finished his work before he heard a stealthy sound on the stairs.