Now I did not entirely like her tone. There was a curious gleam in her eyes, which I mistrusted. I had noticed that gleam before, on occasions when she had been drawing people on to make admissions that they did not wish to make. She was rather too fond, I had sometimes thought, of indulging in a form of intellectual pastime that I have heard people who talk slang--a thing that I detest--call "pulling you by the leg." The suspicion crossed my mind at that moment, that Vera was trying to "pull my leg"--and I frankly didn't like it. "This is no time for joking, Vera," I said, for the "gleam" in her eyes had now become a twinkle. "This is a time for action--and very prompt action." I wondered how she could jest at such a moment. "That is why I want you to act," she answered innocently, "and to act promptly. However, as I believe you have no idea what to do, Dick, I'm going to tell you what to do, and you must do it--promptly. Now, follow me. I know my way about this place." She led me softly along the corridor, turned to the right, then to the left, and then to the left again. Presently we reached the top of a flight of steep, and very narrow wooden stairs. "Follow me," she whispered again, "and keep one hand on that rope," indicating a cord that served as a bannister. "These stairs are slippery, or they always used to be. As a child, I used to fall down them every Sunday." We were on the first floor. The stairs continued to the ground floor. She turned suddenly. "How about your gloves and umbrella?" There was the curious look in her eyes again, so I paid no attention. "Have you matches?" she asked, a moment later. I struck one, and, stooping, we made our way along a narrow, dark passage, with a low ceiling. Five stone steps down into a damp, stone tunnel, about twenty feet in length, then to the right, and we came to a wooden door. "Give me your keys," she said. I did so, and she unlocked the door. It led into a little stone-flagged yard. On three sides of it were high walls, walls of houses. The wall on the fourth side, only a few feet high, was surmounted by iron rails. Stone steps led up to the gate at the end of the rails. She opened the gate, re-locking it when we had passed out, and we stood in a stone-flagged cul-de-sac, about fifteen yards long, across the open end of which, the traffic of the street could be seen passing to and fro. "And now," she said, when we had reached the street, disobeying the injunction of Paulton, "you are going to tell me what I must do next." I hailed a taxi, and we drove off in it, discussing plans as we went along. Then I secured a room for her in a comfortable little hotel I knew of, in a street off Russell Square. The difficulty that now arose, was how to get her luggage.