The Secret Service agent made a slight gesture, as of one rejecting a suggestion. The gesture was unconscious. The man was thinking of what Lord Donald Muir was saying to him. “I suppose he has the right to take her anywhere he likes, provided he remains within the jurisdiction of the English law.” “Surely,” replied the boy. “Dercum is a clever beast; he will keep within the jurisdiction of the English law.” Walker turned slightly, his face was outlined against the black square of the night framed in the window. “Then why do you have this fear about it?” he said. There came a sudden energy into Lord Muir’s voice. “That is all very well as a theory,” he said, “but it is quite different in fact.... The English law runs in South Africa; that is the theory. It is a very fine theory, as it used to be lectured into us at the Hill—a great empire providing precisely the same measure of protection for its subject at the most distant point of its dominion that it provided for him in the very capital itself. That is as nearly as I can remember it. It is a fine theory.” “It is a magnificent theory,” replied the Secret Service agent, “and England has always endeavored to maintain it.” Lord Muir twisted his gloves; his brown hands gripped them. “But England can’t maintain it; that is the very thing I mean. What protection can the law of England give her in northwestern Rhodesia? The law of England will run there in theory, but it’s Dercum’s damned will that will run there in fact.” He gripped the gloves suddenly with both hands, as though he were about to destroy them. “Will there be a bobby to hear her scream?” He leaned forward in his intensity. “And what will she be when she comes out? And she won’t come out until Dercum’s ready. I will tell you what she will be, she will be what Dercum intends her to be.” He looked at the Secret Service agent, his face covered with sweat. Then he continued: “Do you think this fine English law will do her any good then?” Walker came a step or two away from the window. He looked down at the boy. His face was composed, with that vague expression it always took on when his interest was very much awakened. “Sir Henry Dercum,” he said, “will have some instincts of a gentleman.” “If he has any instincts of a gentleman,” replied the boy, with a sudden energy, “he has kept them so far concealed. London does not know about this man. I have had him looked up. He was unspeakable in Hongkong. No members of the English colony came down to the boat to see him off, although he did represent the empire. But he is a clever beast; one can’t get at him. “I wanted my solicitor to resist his confirmation as guardian, but he said I was not a party in interest.” The boy’s voice was charged with an intense vigor.