A figure detached itself from the cluster and moved casually over to him as though to assure herself of his security. If any of the others noticed they showed no sign. He had no difficulty in recognising Sophie Lengholm. She stood by him for a second saying no word and then he felt her hand thrust something into his. It was a small open penknife. Unhurriedly she returned to the others, and the astonished officer remained stone still. It was no time to probe into motives. Whatever had actuated her the fact was that he had in his hand the means of comparative freedom. If the worst came to the worst now he need not be butchered without some sort of a fight. Very silently, very cautiously he set himself with much straining of the wrist, and with some danger of gashing himself, to cut the lower strand of the rope that held him. It was a slow and awkward business, but at last he felt it fall apart. Thus far he had not thought what the following move was to be. He paused, making no attempt to release himself fully for the moment. He could scarcely hope to overpower all the company with nothing for a weapon save a penknife. If he could lay his hands on a revolver--but the only method of doing so was so wildly desperate that he paused to consider before putting it into execution. At that moment he heard the creak of the outer sliding door. It was, he imagined, the return of Larry and there would be three more men to reckon with. The others also had heard and they were on their feet when Tom entered. A volley of questions was fired at him. The valet shook his head. "Don't eat a man. It's all right. Everything looks clear, but Mr. Hughes and Bungey are scouting round to make sure. They'll be back in a jiffy." Labar judged that it might be time to create a diversion. A half-suspicion had come into his mind, but he scarcely believed it himself. "Looks to me as though he had left the rest of you to hold the baby," he announced in level tones. "While you're monkeying about here like a lot of sapheads Larry and Billy are on their way. They've played you for a gang of suckers." Tom wheeled upon him on the instant. "So you say," he retorted. "That's one of the things the boss does not do. I've known him as long as anyone and he always plays square with the boys. Mr. Hughes is a square grafter." "Huh!" said the detective. "Wait and see." "It looks fishy to me," said someone, and Labar knew that he had succeeded in instilling doubt into at least one mind. "Tom's right," said Sophie Lengholm. "Larry has his little ways but he doesn't snitch and he isn't a coward." "But if he _has_ gone?" wailed a tearful voice, in which Labar recognised the accents of Mrs. Gertstein. "What shall we do?" "Don't snivel till you're hurt," snarled a gruff voice. "Gone or not we're no worse off. No one can touch us here yet." "We can't stay here and starve and if we go out they'll put us in prison." Adèle Gertstein was becoming hysterical. "Oh, can't we do something?"