It must have been, Jacob decided, about half an hour later when his senses readjusted themselves to his existing environment. He was in what had apparently been the kitchen, situated in the basement of the house, seated in a fairly comfortable chair to which he was tied by cords. Hartwell and Mason were watching him with the air of uneasy conspirators. Sybil, perfectly composed, was lounging in a wicker chair a little way off, smoking a cigarette. The black man who he had been told was the leader of the newest Jazz band, come to give the young lady some hints as to music, had disappeared. From the distant sound of the gramophone, he gathered that Grace Powers was engaged upstairs with a pupil.

“Feeling all right again, eh?” Mason asked anxiously.

“Perfectly, thank you,” Jacob answered. “By the bye, what happened?”

“You—er—had a sort of faint,” Mason began—

“Don’t start that junk,” Hartwell intervened. “You were doped by the nigger and carried down here. We want some money from you, Pratt.”

“Does this seem a reasonable way to get it?” Jacob enquired, looking down at the marks on his wrists.

“I guess it’ll do the trick,” was the gruff rejoinder.

“Well, get on with the programme, then,” Jacob directed.

“We’re going to let you off cheap,” Mason said. “There’s your cheque book on the table there, and a fountain pen by the side. If you are willing to sign an open cheque for five thousand pounds, payable to Miss Sybil Bultiwell, you can dine at home to-night.”

“Why to Miss Bultiwell?”

“Because we think it well to have Miss Bultiwell formally associated with the transaction,” Mason explained, with a crafty smile. “Miss Bultiwell will endorse the cheque and receive her share of the—er—proceeds.”

Jacob turned a little in his chair, so as to face Sybil. She met his gaze defiantly.

“It was scarcely necessary to resort to such means as these, Miss Bultiwell, if you were in need of five thousand pounds, or any part of it,” he said quietly.

“Perhaps not,” she retorted, “but can’t you see the difference? I wouldn’t take a penny of your money from you as a gift, but I haven’t the least compunction in taking my share of what you will have to pay for your freedom.”

“I see,” Jacob murmured. “This requires consideration.”

Mason glanced at his watch.

“It is now,” he said, “a quarter past three. The banks close at four. If you want to avoid spending the night here, you’ll sign that cheque right away.”

“What happens then?” Jacob enquired.

“Miss Bultiwell will cash it at the bank, will bring the proceeds here, and in a couple of hours’ time you will be able to leave.”

“And what do you suppose my next proceeding will be?” Jacob asked.

“In an ordinary way you would go straight to Scotland Yard, I suppose,” Mason replied. “As a matter of fact, however, we are rather gambling upon the idea that, with Miss Bultiwell’s name on the cheque, and taking into consideration the fact that she is going to cash it in person, you may prefer to treat the matter as a little duel in wits in which you have been worsted, and accept the consequences like a sportsman.”

“I see,” Jacob murmured. “But supposing, even at the risk of involving Miss Bultiwell, I go to Scotland Yard?”

“Then the only person whom Scotland Yard could possibly lay their hands on would be the young lady herself,” Mason pointed out. “Hartwell and I years ago learnt the secret of disappearing from London, and I can promise you that no Scotland Yard man will lay a hand on us.”

“Excellently thought out,” Jacob confessed.

“Say, let’s cut out this chin music,” Hartwell interposed. “Just what are you going to do about it?”

“I am going to sign the cheque,” was the unhesitating reply.

They cut the bonds which secured his right hand. Jacob wrote the cheque according to their directions, signed it carefully and handed it over. They passed it to Sybil.

“In as small notes as you can get,” Mason enjoined. “Come straight back here.”

She nodded and left the room, with an insolent little glance at Jacob. The latter leaned back in his chair.

“You see, I am quite amenable,” he said. “And now, don’t you think that as I am a very small man, and feeling exceedingly unwell from the stuff on the handkerchief which that nigger of yours thrust down my throat, and there are two of you, both big fellows, you could loosen my cords for me? This is damned uncomfortable, and I hate the melodramatic appearance of it.”

“Will you promise, upon your honour, to make no effort whatever to get away before Miss Bultiwell’s return?” Mason demanded.

“I give you my word that I will do nothing of the sort.”

They cut his cords. Jacob staggered to his feet and stretched himself. A bottle and glasses upon a table at the farther end of the room attracted his attention.

“Is that whisky?” he asked, in an interested manner.

“Guess we’ll find you a Scotch and soda,” Hartwell declared. “Don’t you feel too badly about this, Pratt,” he went on, as he handed him the tumbler. “We’d have gone for a much bigger thing with you, but for Miss Bultiwell. She wouldn’t have you bled for more, and she wouldn’t have us take you where I wanted to, down Limehouse way, where we could have kept you snugly for a week, if necessary.”

“Extraordinarily considerate of her,” Jacob observed drily, as he drained the contents of the tumbler.

“I can tell you, sir,” Hartwell went on, as he handed over his cigarette case, “out in the State where I come from, we should think nothing of a hold-up like this. Why, you haven’t a scratch, and you could afford to put that five thou in the plate at church and not notice it. Have one more small one for luck.”

“I don’t mind if I do,” Jacob acquiesced.... “You fellows must see some life.”

“Not on this side,” Hartwell replied despondently. “We’re too near the edge of your little island all the time, for a job of this sort. I’m in a bit of trouble over in the States, or I shouldn’t be wasting my time here.”

Jacob stretched himself expansively in the easy-chair. He thrust his hands into his pockets and sighed.

“Just about reached the bank, hasn’t she?”

“They’re counting out the flimsies right now,” Hartwell exulted.

Jacob nodded.

“You fellows have brought this off all right,” he reflected. “I suppose you knew I shouldn’t give any trouble.”

“We kind of reckoned you’d be sensible,” Hartwell admitted.

“Supposing I’d dodged that drug and shown fight?” Jacob went on. “Were you armed, you fellows?”

Hartwell smiled contemptuously.

“Not for a little job like this,” he replied. “When I use shooting-irons, things happen. Do you get me, Pratt?”

Jacob nodded.

“You seem to have held me very lightly,” he grumbled. “I expect Mason has an automatic in his hip pocket.”

“I have never carried firearms in my life,” Mason declared, with a shiver. “I prefer finesse.”

Then Jacob began to laugh. He rose from his chair and walked up and down the room with his hands in his trousers pockets, shaking with mirth. The two men watched him at first in surprise, afterwards with growing uneasiness.

“What the hell’s got you?” Mason demanded.

“Can’t you let us into the joke?” Hartwell suggested.

“I really think I must,” Jacob replied, coming to a standstill near the door. “You know, it may seem strange to you, but honestly I am not quite chicken food. I knew a bit about you two, and I should never have come near this dancing class but that I wanted to keep an eye on Miss Bultiwell. Seemed to me yesterday that things were coming pretty well to a crisis. I was the only genuine pupil here—empty house, disappointed adventurers, and all the rest of it. So this morning I looked in at my bank and told them exactly what to do if any open cheque were presented with two little dots underneath my signature. You noticed them, didn’t you, Mason? I should think,” he concluded, glancing at his watch, “that in a matter of five minutes we ought to have some interesting visitors here.”

“The little hound’s done us!” Mason shouted. “Come on, Hartwell. Taxi’s outside. We shall just have time.”

But they faced a transformed and most unexpected Jacob Pratt. Hartwell, rushing for the door, was adroitly tripped up and fell heavily. Mason, after a moment’s whirlwind sparring, found himself on his back, seeing a thousand stars. Jacob took up his position in front of the door.

“Gentlemen,” he announced, “I promised not to attempt to escape and I shall keep my word. But as regards giving you a little lesson, that’s another matter. I might mention that I was knocked out in the semi-finals for the amateur lightweights by a chance blow. You can come along together, if you like, or separately.”

“Rush the little devil!” Hartwell shouted, rising.

They rushed—one another. To their amazed senses, Jacob seemed transformed into some extraordinary creation of india rubber, and the events of the next few minutes lived in their memories only as a hideous and painful nightmare.... In a matter of five minutes, Jacob opened the hall door to Sybil. She stared at him in bewilderment. His hand closed upon her wrist. He held her gently, but there was a feeling of iron underneath the velvet, and a new sternness in his tone.

“The notes are in your handbag, I see. Thank you!”

He thrust the roll into his pocketbook and handed her back the empty bag before she had recovered the power of speech.

“Where are they all?” she gasped. “How on earth did you get here?”

“I brought off a small bluff,” Jacob explained gravely. “Your two friends believed a little legend of mine about the signing of my cheque and expected a visit from some Scotland Yard officers. They tried to escape. You’ll find them downstairs. I am afraid Mason may have to go to the hospital, but Hartwell should be all right in a day or two, if he lies in a dark room.”

For the moment she was cowed. She looked at him almost fearfully. Hartwell and Mason were strong men. Escape seemed to her a miracle. With her wrist still in his steel-like grasp, she suffered him to lead her out on to the pavement.

“Your association with this ridiculous escapade,” he continued, “has decided me to regard it as a practical joke,—on one condition: which is that you step into my car there, allow my man to drive you to your rooms, or wherever you are staying, and promise me to have nothing whatever more to do with this gang of adventurers.”

“You are not going to give information to the police about them?” she asked breathlessly.

“I cannot without involving you,” was the cool reply. “You were the decoy. You can insure their safety.”

She shivered.

“I accept,” she murmured.

Jacob handed her into the car. She moved her skirts instinctively to make room for him by her side. He closed the door.

“The lady will direct you,” he told his chauffeur, stepping back.

She leaned out of the window and gave an address to the man. Then she turned to Jacob. She was very pale but her eyes were ablaze.

“I just want to tell you,” she said, “that from the bottom of my heart I hate and detest you.”

The car glided away, and Jacob walked across the Square towards a taxicab stand.