"My changed appearance plus a likely story and a possibility of leading them on the track of the White Knight earned me my freedom. I had but one thing to fear--that they would hang me from pure spite, but--I must be more than a bad penny, for here I am." Had Arnold been less in a state of profound fascination he might have detected the bitter tinge which crept into his leader's last words; even now there was still one question he wished to ask. "Geoffrey, old man, I have never heard anything more marvellous in all my life, yet won't you tell me why you hesitated, that morning in your cell, to make your plans for escape, and what, at the last moment, made you change your mind?" There was a wistful note in his voice. In his present happiness he wished all his friends to share it. Purposely the White Knight ignored the first part of the question. "The thought of this moment," Wenzel replied, and again he patted his rifle. "Szamuelly must die." Suddenly he shot out his hand and grasped Terhune's arm. "Listen!" he said harshly. From afar off they heard a faint murmuring, a tremulous, echoing vibration. "The Death Train!" whispered Arnold. Wenzel laughed throatily, and for the first time in weeks there was a happy timbre in his tone. The noise of the shrieking monster pounding toward them through the night grew louder, and some way off its fiery beacon flashed into view as it rounded a curve. Swaying in its stride it thundered forward; then with a wild groan, wrung protestingly from it by the fierce application of the brakes, it slowed up until it came to a stop, scarcely fifty yards from the warning red light, snorting its fury into the air. The immediate neighbourhood of the Death Train was lit up by the blaze of light from within, and the two watchers were able to see the hurried exit of several men from the second coach, clambering down to the ground and running forward into the night. With a steady hand the White Knight swung round the sight of his rifle; unwaveringly it pointed to the exit of the first coach, and there waited.... The men who had rushed forward to investigate returned once again into the radius of the light. They were gesticulating wildly. A window swung up, a smooth, purring voice, which the White Knight believed to be that of Szamuelly, rang out, questioning. The rifle swung round, pointing significantly toward the man at the window, but the White Knight was not sure, so he waited. There must be no mistake that night. The man withdrew his head from the window. Almost immediately he emerged from the obscurity of the exit, and the White Knight saw that he had made no mistake. It was indeed Szamuelly!