Carthew whispered some further hasty instructions to Herries, and, "Yes, my lord," the old factor answered again so that all could hear, and all understood that the tenth Earl of Jura and Baron St. Just had thus succeeded the ninth—who lay there dead on the floor before them.

The duchess was gently leading Sallie away. Herries followed them, on his own errands, while Captain Dove and his accomplices remained looking on with sullen, suspicious eyes, straining their ears in a vain attempt to hear what was to be their fate.

Carthew turned to them. "I'll bid you good night now," he said, in a tone not without a new tinge of authority in it, and at which they looked anything but well pleased. "You'll be more comfortable in your own quarters than anywhere else in the meantime." And, with that sufficiently broad hint, he stood waiting for them to go.

Captain Dove had opened his mouth as if to speak, but said nothing. Slyne, very pinched and white about the nostrils, drew Mr. Jobling toward the door, as if he would not trust the shifty lawyer with Carthew, and answered for them all, with a most sarcastic inflection, "Good night,—my lord!" Now that the worst had come to the worst he was his old cool, careless, calculating self again.

Captain Dove paused at the buffet in passing, and went on with both hands full. Both he and Slyne, on their way toward the North Keep with Mr. Jobling shambling along between them, not unlike a condemned criminal, noticed the unusual number of able-bodied men-servants who seemed to have found aimless occupation of some sort about the corridor, and drew their own discomforting conclusions therefrom.

Slyne even hesitated for a moment on the threshold of the cosy living-hall which occupies the base of the North Keep, and then, with a grimace of disdain, followed the other two, closing the heavy door behind him. Almost immediately he heard the key turned quietly in the lock outside—and knew that his suspicions had been only too well founded. Carthew intended to keep him and his associates prisoners there. He bit his lip and pulled at his moustache as he watched Captain Dove drawing the cork of one of the two bottles of champagne that strategist had brought from the banquet-hall.

"We're cornered at last," he said suddenly, as the old man set the bottle down after having imbibed the best half of its contents. "They've locked us in here."

Captain Dove turned to glare disbelievingly at him, and then, darting across to the door, tugged furiously at its wrought-iron handle. He set a foot against the wall and tried again, with no better results. He bounced about, almost frantic, blaspheming as if bereft of all self-control. Mr. Jobling stood wringing his hands helplessly, his flaccid features expressive of abject despair. But Slyne continued to eye the old man with a strained, disconcerting composure.

"We haven't so much time to spare, Dove," said he bitingly, "that we can afford to waste any more watching you play the fool. I expect that fellow Carthew will have your whole history out of Farish M'Kissock within—"

"If you had only kept your damned mouth shut when Brasse was kicking the bucket," cried Captain Dove, very venomously, "Carthew would be keeping him company now. The snake would have got him too. And we'd have won out after all."

Slyne ground his teeth. But that was no moment for futile recrimination, and self-interest served to stay the acrid retort on the tip of his tongue.

"'If this and if that' doesn't make any difference now," he declared evenly. "I'm not going to argue with you. I want to get out of this before worse comes my way."

"But how—" moaned Mr. Jobling, across whose mental vision also were no doubt flashing pictures of Wandsworth Common and Wormwood Scrubbs.

Slyne silenced him with a glance. "I'd very gladly leave you here to your fate, you fat bungler!" said he, with irrepressible bitterness, "if it weren't that you'd turn informer on us. So come on, both of you. We've only one chance left among us. And, but for me, neither of you would have even that." Wherewith, and only pausing to take a long pull at Captain Dove's open bottle, he turned up the staircase, leaving them to follow him or stay where they were, as they chose.

Captain Dove did follow him, curiously, but not forgetting to pocket the other bottle. The shivering lawyer came close at his heels, no less eager to snatch at any possibility of escape.

"Get into a change of clothes," ordered Slyne, as he opened the door of his own room. "And I wouldn't be slow about it, if I were you—for I'm going as soon as I'm ready."

Captain Dove's change did not unduly detain him, since he merely pulled on a pair of serge trousers and a pilot-jacket on top of his other attire. And Mr. Jobling was back in Slyne's room no less promptly. They found it in darkness and Captain Dove uttered a stifled imprecation. But almost immediately, they heard hasty footsteps on the stair without and Slyne reappeared with a coil of thin strong cord in one hand.

"The flagpole-halliards," he explained breathlessly as he shut the door behind him again. "My window looks out on the battlements. We must clamber down. Make the rope secure at this end, Dove, but so that we can pull it after us once we're all down—it's long enough to go double—while I get some things together."

Captain Dove did as he was bidden, so deftly that Slyne had not quite completed his own preparations when the old man called on him to go first.

"Send Jobling down," said Slyne, pulling on an overcoat to cover his evening clothes, and the stout solicitor gave voice to a very heartrending groan as he glared blankly out into the black gulf beyond the window.

"I won't go—" he was beginning when Captain Dove ran furiously at him, clutched him round the waist in a gorilla-like grip, and thrust him, feet foremost, struggling insanely, over the sill.

"Catch hold of the cord—both strands—or I'll drop you!" snarled the old man. "Down you go, now. You'll find a knot every foot or so. You needn't slip unless you force me to start you with a slam on the head." And he stood watching, grimly amused, while his moaning victim sank out of sight, very gradually.

In a few moments the weight on the rope relaxed.

"Are you there?" he demanded, and had to shout the question again at the top of his voice, so strong was the wind.

"Yes, all right," the answer came back, very faint but palpably freighted with helpless wrath.

"Come on, then, Slyne," ordered Captain Dove, and himself prepared to follow the injured lawyer. "What's that for?" he called in through the window. Slyne was busy securing a bundle about his own shoulders.

"Some spare wraps," Slyne shouted back from between set teeth. "We're going to take Sallie away with us. On you go—I'll be right after you."

Nor had the other two long to wait till he came scrambling down in his turn. And, as soon as they had retrieved their rope, they followed his lead through the darkness.

The three fugitives made their way in the teeth of the wind along the battlements to a point overlooking the terrace that lies at the back of the banquet-hall. And there again their rope stood them in good stead. Slyne thanked his stars that he had studied all the intricacies of the castle so thoroughly, as he led the way, with infinite precaution, from the terrace into the empty passage down which they crept as far as the service-pantry behind the gun-room.

The gun-room was empty also. As he entered it, he gave vent to a long sigh of heartfelt relief.

"We're safe now," he told Captain Dove in a guarded tone, and, pulling off his overcoat, smoothed down his crumpled shirt-front. "But you'd better hurry down to the water-gate and make sure that the boat there doesn't go off without us. As soon as Sallie comes along, we'll—"

"But what if she won't come?" asked Captain Dove, becoming recalcitrant again. "And how do you know there's a boat below?"

"You don't suppose Brasse swam ashore, do you!" Slyne retorted impatiently. "The boat that brought him from the Olive Branch was still there a few minutes ago—while I was at the top of the tower. I suppose he told them to wait for him, in case he struck trouble here. But they may not wait much longer, if you waste any more time.

"And, as to Sallie, leave me to manage. If you trip me up again now with any of your damned nonsense," he finished with sudden fury, "I'll go to gaol quite contentedly—and make sure there that you hang."

"I might still make terms with that fellow Carthew," Captain Dove suggested provokingly and with a great air of cunning.

"All right," returned Slyne. "That's enough." And, crossing toward the fireplace, he pressed the bell-push beside the mantel.

Captain Dove snatched up a candle and, with that, made a dart for the panel in the wainscot. It would not move despite his most desperate efforts. Slyne pulled a bunch of keys from one pocket and promptly released the powerful spring-lock. At a sign from him, Mr. Jobling descended the steps below in Captain Dove's wake. Slyne pulled the panel back into place and was seated quietly writing at the table in one corner when a sleepy-looking footman entered the room.

"I want you to take this note along to her ladyship's rooms," said Slyne, and yawned. "Give it to her maid. You needn't wait for an answer."

"Very well, sir," the man returned with all the respect due to Slyne's recent standing there and evidently still without suspicion of any change. Slyne yawned again, as if ready for bed, re-reading what he had written. And then, watching his messenger go off with the missive, breathed a thanksgiving that was, at the same time, a prayer to the goddess of chance who was his deity. For he was taking risks now that were recklessly dangerous and might, at any moment, prove deadly to him.

"It would be pretty fatal, for instance, if Carthew chanced to be with the duchess and her when Ambrizette takes my note in," he told himself. "But—there are a dozen other chances of accident, and what's the use of worrying? The wind doesn't always blow from the same quarter. I'd feel safe enough if I only knew where Carthew is at this precise moment."

He crossed to the fireplace, picking up a cigarette by the way, and, having lighted it with trembling fingers, stood staring down into the dull glow of the dying logs on the hearth. He was wondering whether all was really lost, and listening most impatiently to every slightest sound. But he had not long to wait before Sallie, pale of face and with a world of woe in her wet eyes, came very quietly into the room.

He held out both his hands to her, but she stopped at a little distance.

"You mustn't blame me, Sallie," he said in a voice meant to carry conviction with it. "I didn't know—I had no idea—I believed honestly from the first that you were—"

"It makes no difference now," she interrupted, "and—I—I—Oh! I'm so ashamed. What can Mr. Carthew think of me! And he knew all the time that I had no right to be here!"

"It wasn't your fault either," he assured her soothingly. "You were misled—no less than I was. How could we ever have foreseen—But there's no time to talk of that just now. We must be off. Captain Dove has gone on ahead. He left me to show you the way to the boat."

She lifted a hand dazedly to her forehead.

"I don't know what to do," she murmured. "But—of course, I can't stay here now."

Slyne was watching her tensely. "Most assuredly not," he agreed in haste and trying hard to hide his elation. "You can't possibly stay here—after what has happened. You've far too much proper pride."

"And my promise to you is no longer binding," she said, "since I'm not—It was Lady Josceline Justice with whom you made that bargain—and not with me."

He saw that it was no moment to argue that point. All he wanted at once was to get her safely on board the Olive Branch. And he did not contradict her.

"Ambrizette must come with me, Jasper," she said brokenly. "I won't leave her behind."

He set his teeth to stifle an angry refusal of that difficult condition.

"All right, Sallie," he answered smoothly. "I'll risk that too, since you say so. Slip on this coat—it will be bitter cold in the boat. And I'll send for Ambrizette."