“You’ve been lent,” repeated the detective. “The Home Office has lent you to the Colonial Office, and I am here to effect the transfer.” Amber twiddled his manacled hands restlessly. “I don’t want to go out of England just now,” he began. “Oh yes, you do, Mr. Amber; there’s a River of Stars somewhere in the world, and a cargo of roguery on its way to locate it.” “So they’ve gone, have they?” He was disappointed and did not attempt to disguise the fact. “I hoped that I should be out in time to stop ’em, but that racket has nothing to do with the Colonial Office.” “Hasn’t it?” Fells went to the wall where the prisoner’s bell was, and pushed it. Two minutes later the door swung open. “There’s another visitor, who will explain,” he said, and left the exasperated Amber muttering rude things about government departments in general and the Home Office in particular. In ten minutes the door opened again. Amber was not prepared for his visitor, and as he sprang awkwardly to his feet, he went alternately red and white. The girl herself was pale, and she did not speak until the door closed behind the warders. That brief space of time gave Amber the opportunity to recover his self-possession. “I fear that I cannot offer you the courtesies that are due to you,” he said. “For the moment my freedom of movement is somewhat restricted.” She thought he referred to his presence in prison, and half smiled at the politeness of a speech so out of all harmony with the grim surroundings. “You are probably surprised to see me, Mr. Amber,” she said. “It was in desperation that I went to the Home Office to endeavour to secure an interview with you--there is no one else in the world knows so much of this expedition and the men who have formed it.” “Did you find any difficulty in obtaining permission?” There was an odd twinkle in Amber’s eye which she did not observe. “None--or almost none,” she said. “It was very wonderful.” “Not so wonderful, my lady,” said Amber. “I’m an old client: anything to oblige a regular customer.” She was looking at him with pain in her eyes. “Please--please don’t talk like that,” she said in a low voice. “You rather hurt me: I want to feel that you are not beyond--help, and when you talk so flippantly and make so light of your--trouble, it does hurt, you know.” He dropped his eyes and, for the matter of that, so did she. “I am sorry,” he said in a quieter tone, “if I have bothered you: any worry on your part has been unnecessary, not,” he added with a touch of the old Amber, “that I have not been worth worrying about, but you have not quite understood the circumstances. Now please tell me why you wish to see me; there is a stool--it is not very comfortable, but it is the best I can offer you.” She declined the seat with a smile and began her story. Her brother had sailed, so also had Lambaire and Whitey, taking with them a copy of the chart.