She was gone for ten minutes and returned with a long envelope. From this she extracted a soiled sheet of paper and handed it to the ex-convict. He took it, and carried it to the window, examining it carefully. “I see the route is marked from a point called Chengli--where is that?” “In the Alebi forest,” she said; “the country is known as far as Chengli; from there on, my father mapped the country, inquiring his way from such natives as he met--this was the plan he had set himself.” “I see.” He looked again at the map, then from his pocket he took the compass he had found in Lambaire’s safe. He laid it on the table by the side of the map and produced a second compass, and placed the two instruments side by side. “Do you observe any difference in these, Miss Sutton?” he asked, and the girl looked carefully. “One is a needle compass, and on the other there is no needle,” she said. “That is so; the whole of the dial turns,” Amber nodded. “Nothing else?” he asked. “I can see no other difference,” she said, shaking her head. “Where is the north on the dial?” She followed the direction of the letter N and pointed. “Where is the north of the needle?” Her brows knit in a puzzled frown, for the thin delicate needle of the smaller compass pointed ever so slightly in a more westerly direction than its fellow. “What does that mean?” she asked, and their eyes met over the table. * * * * * Lambaire and his host had finished their business. Francis Sutton was in a jubilant mood, and came into the hall with his patron. “You mustn’t worry about my sister,” he said; “she’ll come round to my way of thinking after a while--she’s a woman, you know,” he added vaguely. “I understand, my boy,” said the expansive Lambaire. “We both understand, don’t we, Whitey?” “Certainly,” said Whitey. “Still, she’ll probably be annoyed if you go off without saying good-bye,--where is your mistress, Susan?” he asked of the maid who had come in answer to his bell. “In the study, sir.” “Come along.” He led the way to the study and opened the door. “Cynthia----” he began. They were leaning over the table; between them lay the map and the two compasses. What Sutton saw, the other two saw; and Lambaire, sweeping past the youth, snatched up his property. “So that’s the game, is it?” he hissed: he was trembling with passion; “that’s your little game, Amber!” He felt Whitey’s hand grip his arm and recovered a little of his self-possession. “This man is not content with attempting to blackmail,” he said, “not content with committing a burglary at my office and stealing valuable drawings----” “What does this mean, Cynthia?” Sutton’s voice was stern, and his face was white with anger. For the second time Amber came to the rescue. “Allow me,” he said. “I’ll allow you nothing,” stormed the boy; “get out of this house before I kick you out. I want no gaol birds here.”