"Not now, thank you. I—another time if I may." The evening wore on slowly. Nell twice put her ear to the little clock on the mantel-shelf, thinking it must have stopped. Molly, fathoms deep in "Monsieur Beaucaire," was blind and deaf to everything else, but Sheila Pat eyed Nell shrewdly. "Can’t you be sittin’ still at all, Nell O’Brien?" she demanded impatiently. Nell started and grew red. "I like walking up and down." "Do you like pickin’ up that jogglefry book and lookin’ at it every time you pass the table?" The Atom’s sarcastic little tongue was sharp. But Nell squashed her with a guiltily unkind, "What’s a jogglefry book?" The Atom grew slowly scarlet. After a little while she fetched the dictionary, and wrestled with it indefatigably till bedtime. She hunted, her mouth set firmly, her brows frowning, all through the "J’s". She went to bed unsatisfied. When Molly had been in bed a few minutes a little night-gowned figure crept into the room. "Molly!" Molly gave a yell of terror. "Oh, Sheila Pat, you did make me jump! What do you want?" The Atom stood shivering beside her bed. "Molly, how—how’d you be savin’ Jog—you know all about pennyshulars and capes and gulfs and things?" "Geography, do you mean?" "Yes. Jography. Is that right?" "Yes," sleepily. "Go back to bed." In the Stronghold Nell waited for Denis. It was nine o’clock. She went into a front room and looked out into the street. She wondered vaguely why everything sounded so clear and loud; why the scent of a sandal-wood box was so sharp. She did not know that every nerve was on the stretch, that she was strung up till every sense was painfully acute. As she stood at the window she heard a hubbub of men’s voices; the noise of many feet. They passed into the distance, across the top of Henley Road. She saw them in her mind—men being taken to the police station. She turned suddenly and ran into her bedroom. Sheila Pat was asleep. She seized a hat and coat, flung off her shoes, put on others, and crept down the stairs. Miss Kezia was not at home, but in the hall, just going out, Herr Schmidt stood drawing on his gloves. "I haf to take a book to a friend," he said, his eyes questioning her surprisedly, as his tongue was too polite to do. "Yes?" she said vaguely. She went to the door. "Is your brozzer outside waiting for you, Fräulein?" Up went Nell’s head. "No, Herr Schmidt." He moved a step so that he blocked her way. "He is coming down ze stairs?" "No. I am going out alone. Please let me pass, Herr Schmidt!" There was a little pause. Nell pulled restlessly at the throat of her coat. "It is nine o’clock, Fräulein. Young laties do not go out alone at that time." "Let me pass!" her eyes blazed; she stamped her foot. "What business is it of yours? How dare you stop me!" she said haughtily. "I am frightened," he declared simply, "but I dare because I see you are young and a little girl who does not understand—"