The man by her side had not once mentioned her name. Certainly he had said he was from the White Knight, but what proof had she that he really was? She had heard from Arnold and Francis that the White Knight was known and hated throughout the Communist community of Budapest, but on the other hand more than revered in the circles of the persecuted. It was therefore, she argued with herself, not impossible that her present escort, calculating from her attitude that she was being pursued, and perhaps not realizing that he himself was the guilty one, had craftily used the name, hoping that it would act as a password to her confidence. More and more she became uneasy, and when she glanced up at the scowling face of her guide all her terror of him returned. Suddenly she stopped, and when he looked round questioned him. "Why did not the White Knight himself come after me?" There was grim humour in her words which unfortunately he alone was able to appreciate. "Huh! So you are suspicious of me, are you, my fine lady? For why do I work for this spawn of Satan, this _bourgeois_, the White Knight? Only because he pays me good money--money which I spend to have a merry life. There is nothing else to live for in these days but money. He pays me well, pretty one, but so would Comrade Bela Kun. I could give him a lot of information. He would not be suspicious of me, nor insult me with sneering glances and haughty airs. "Why did not the White Knight himself run after you? Perhaps he knew it would be a long chase--though his legs are longer than mine." He laughed at his own joke, then leered into her face so that she shrank back. "What do you take him for? An idiot, a fool with the brains of a babe? If the White Knight ventured into the street he would be torn to bits. Now follow me again if you want to see him." Without another word, without a look to see whether she was keeping up with him, he strode on, and almost at once Elizabeth caught him up. There was so much truth in his words. Not only that, but with a queer feeling of constriction at her heart she realized that a false move on her part might throw the mysterious Englishman into the hands of his enemies. Supposing through her the White Knight were betrayed...? The neighbourhood became more shabby, somehow reminiscent, and with a shock Elizabeth recognized the street. They were passing by the building in which she had been imprisoned the previous evening. Despite herself, doubts again began to arise in her mind. That she should be brought to the same street was too much a coincidence. With a wrenching pain at her heart it seemed to her that, too late, she saw through the whole plot. The commissary, having discovered her flight, had sent a friend out to search for her, and, like an innocent child, she had believed that the man--of whom instinctively she had been afraid--was an emissary of the White Knight.