"Such as the murder of Durwin," put in Dan, quickly. "That is only one out of many. Deeper and deeper I have sunk into the mire and now the end has come. I am glad of it." "Why not turn king's evidence, and denounce this woman and her gang? Then you would be pardoned." "There is no pardon for my wickedness," said Mrs. Jarsell, in a sombre tone. "I have sown, and I must reap as I have sown. It is too late. I know that your friend will come with the police. They will find the whole wicked lot of criminals here, which constitute the Society of Flies." "Ah! those telegrams?" "Yes. I sent off thirty last night, for now Penn and Curberry are dead there are just thirty members. Today all will come up, since the danger to all is so great. I sent the wires last night, and I am confident that the members have started for Sheepeak this morning. This afternoon everyone will be under this roof. All the worse for you." Dan quailed. "Does she really mean to torture me?" he asked nervously, and it was little to be wondered at that such a prospect did make him feel sick. "Yes, she does," rejoined Mrs. Jarsell, gloomily; "when the members find that there is no escape, they will be delighted to see the man who had brought this danger on them mutilated and done to death by inches." "A pleasant set of people," muttered Dan, bracing himself to meet the worst, "but I think you would not care to see me tortured." "No, I wouldn't. You are brave, and young, and clever, and handsome----" "And," added Dan, quickly, thinking of a means to move her to help him. "I am to marry Lillian Moon. Surely you have some sympathy with me and with her?" "Supposing I have; what can I do?" "Help me to escape," said Dan, persuasively. "It's impossible," she growled, and went suddenly away, closing the door after her with a bang that sounded in Dan's ears like his death-warrant. All the same, with the courage of a brave nature, and the hopefulness inseparable from youth, he went on with his meal, hoping for the best. Mrs. Jarsell was moved by his plight; he saw that, and, deeply stained as she was with compulsory crimes, she might hope to atone for them by doing one good act. At the eleventh hour she might set him free, and undoubtedly she would think over what he had said. This woman, unlike the others, was not entirely evil, and the seeds of good in her breast might bring forth repentance and a consequent help. Dan knew that he was clinging to a straw, but in his present dilemma there was nothing else to cling to.