Climbing painfully into the car, her knees giving under her, her trembling hands manipulated the gears. The car wobbled painfully, and, as she came slowly out on to the little road that runs by the prison, she was conscious of a weakness which almost terrified her. She stopped the car a few inches from the kerb, and at that moment she heard a quick step, and, turning her head, saw the man with whose machine she had collided earlier in the afternoon. There was a look of deep concern on his saturnine face. “Anything wrong?” he asked sharply. “No--nothing,” she said unsteadily. He stood surveying her with a critical and speculative eye. “You nearly drove into that lamp-post. Aren’t you feeling well?” “Not--not very,” she said. In another second he had swung himself into the car by her side, and she made room for him behind the steering wheel. “I’ll take you down to the Lion Hotel and get them to send up for my car.” She was dimly aware that the long machine with the damaged mudguard was parked by the side of the prison wall. “I shall be quite all right----” she protested. “Nevertheless, I will drive you back to town,” he said, and she made no further demur. He stopped outside the Lion Hotel long enough to communicate with a little man who seemed to be expecting him; then turned the damaged nose of the Ford towards London; and she was intensely grateful to him that he made no attempt to improve his opportunity, for the rest of the journey was carried out in almost complete silence. From time to time he glanced at her, and once he looked at the crumpled papers which she held tightly gripped in her little hand, the documents which Mr. Shaddles’ client had signed, and which were now in a more ruffled condition than most legal documents are supposed to be. “179 Bedford Row, I think it is?” he said, as they crossed the traffic of Holborn, and she had recovered sufficient of her spirits to answer: “I think you should know.” One side of his mouth went up in a smile. “I’m pretty well acquainted with this neighbourhood,” he said coolly. And then, as the car came to a standstill behind a big Rolls that stood before the doorway of 179: “You’ve been awfully kind to me, Mr. Dorn,” she said. “I am very grateful to you indeed.” “What worried you?” he asked. “At the prison, I mean?” She shook her head. “Nothing--only it is a rather dreadful shock, seeing so many women.” His eyes narrowed. “You saw the women, did you? Pretty queer lot, eh?” She shivered. “Do you know the prison? Have you been inside, I mean?” she asked. “Yes, I’ve been inside once or twice,” he answered. Glancing up at the window behind which was her office, she caught a glimpse of a short, tilted nose and a pair of wide open eyes, and, in spite of herself, laughed helplessly. “Good-bye, Mr. Dorn.” She held out her hand and he took it.