"Thank God! But now we must run like Hell. Quick, Arnold, help Apor." Already Apor was making an effort to stumble to his feet, but his manacled hands made the task difficult. Arnold bent down and practically lifted him to his feet. "Away with you," Wenzel growled--his ear caught the sound of running footsteps inside Parliament House--"they are coming." For one second Arnold hesitated: "And you, Geoffrey?" "Leave me, I will join you--later," he answered quietly. There was no time to argue. With a quick run Arnold and Apor disappeared into the night _en route_ for a previously arranged destination, and Wenzel laughed softly to himself. Provided that nothing unforeseen should happen, in five minutes' time Apor would be safe, and once again the White Knight would have scored another triumph. He knew that he should run--he could hear the reinforcements, shouting in their excitement, just inside the door. Four, three more paces and they would be in the open, their revolvers cocked ready to spit at the shadow which he knew would be faintly visible to them. Yet, before he left, there was one more task to do. Gonnard was lying at his feet: alive or dead he knew not, nor was there time to investigate. That would do later. He picked the body up and flung it across his shoulder. The first guard came through the door, and Wenzel fired. His aim was true, the man fell heavily. There were dismayed cries from the others, and the rush ceased suddenly. It was all that Wenzel required. He turned, and his long legs carried him across the square and away into the friendly darkness, while the bullying Red guards cowered back, shooting indiscriminately from the cover of the protecting doorway. There was no pursuit, and as Wenzel quickly drew farther away the crackle of the shooting sounded fainter, until suddenly it stopped, and the White Knight knew that revenge for the death of Elizabeth's cousin was now certain. He was well away, and rapidly drawing near the Suspension Bridge. He stopped short as he approached it, but there was not a soul to be seen, and he continued on his way across it. In the centre he halted again, and slipped the unconscious commissary from his shoulder. Gonnard was not dead. His heart was thumping irregularly, but strongly, and even as Wenzel laid him down the wounded man stirred, moaned with pain, and spoke. "My ankle! What has happened? My ankle, it hurts. Where am I?" He spoke as though his mind were in a haze. Wenzel bent over to him and whispered in his ear: "In the hands of the White Knight, Comrade Gonnard, and to-day----" He heard the Communist gasp. There was a moment's silence, tense and dramatic, then Gonnard shrieked with horror. Wenzel clapped his hand roughly over the mouth of the other, and the noise died away to a faint gurgle.