One in Greg's position could hardly refuse an offer of friendship. His heart warmed to her. Yet he did not altogether abandon caution. Something about her still repelled him; her foreignness perhaps. She spoke excellent English, but not with the unconsciousness of the native born. "How can I help you?" she murmured. "Help me to get out of here," said Greg bluntly. "I daren't!" she whispered. "They would kill me if they found out. Besides it is useless. The house is full of men. All the doors are guarded." "Cut this rope and I'll take my chances of getting out." "I daren't," she wailed. "But maybe I can loosen it a little." Careless of her fine dress, she dropped to her knees on the dusty floor beside him. What she had in her hand she put down. It sounded like a plate. Greg rolled over, and with her soft warm hands she fumbled with the knots at his wrists, not with much success. Her hands trembled a little as if in confusion at being forced to touch a strange man. Greg was thinking principally of the plate. "What was that you brought?" he asked. "You are hungry?" "Famished. I suppose it's ten hours since I ate." "There was nothing cooked in this house, but I brought biscuits and chocolate. Are your hands more comfortable now?" "Not much. How can I eat with my hands tied?" "I will feed you," she said with a charming confusion in her voice. She proceeded to do so, feeling for his lips with her fingers and pressing chocolate and sweet biscuits between them. In good sooth the situation was romantic enough, the warm breathing woman bending over him in the dark, fragrant as a flower; there was something infinitely caressing in the touch of her fingers, nevertheless Greg remained cold. He could think of nothing but how to get out. "You are not like a common taxi-driver," she said presently. Greg was reminded with a little pang of the other woman who had said that. "I'm a taxi-driver," he replied. "As to common that's not for me to say." "You speak like an educated man." He shrugged. "Who are you?" he asked for the second time. "A prisoner like yourself." It occurred to him as strange that a prisoner should have been so anxious to keep lights from showing in the windows. "What sort of joint is this anyhow?" he asked. "Joint?" "Who are these men? What are they?" "I don't know. They tell me nothing." "But if you live here you must hear and see what goes on. What do you make of it?" "It's politics of some kind," she said vaguely. "I don't understand. How did you happen to come here?" "I was sent." "By whom?" "A fare who engaged me on the street." "What sort of person?" "Well, I'm not much of a hand at description. An ordinary looking fellow, middle-aged, plainly dressed, nothing special about him." "You're just fooling me!" she said reproachfully. "You don't trust me." "Why should I trust you?" said Greg bluntly. "You don't answer my questions but only ask me others."