"Does one discuss those things? Are you coming to Russell Square for your lesson this afternoon?"

"It scarcely seems worth while," he sighed.

"I think you had better," she said, frowning. "They are expecting you."

"They?" he repeated.

A little spot of colour burned in her cheeks. She looked away hastily.

"The lady with whom you are going to dine on Sunday night, for one,"

she reminded him.

There was a moment's silence. Jacob was perplexed.

"Are you going to be there?" he enquired.

"Yes!"

He glanced at his watch.

"We may as well go together, then," he suggested.

They walked up the stairs to the street, and he handed her into his car, which was waiting. On their way to Russell Square she was unusually silent. At the top of Shaftesbury Avenue she turned to him abruptly.

"Perhaps you had better not come, after all," she said. "I will make your excuses to Grace."

"I can take care of myself," Jacob replied.

Her eyes mocked him.

"You are quite sure?"

"Perfectly."

She shrugged her shoulders and made no other remark until they drew up in front of the house in Russell Square. When he would have a.s.sisted her to alight, she hesitated once more.

"Listen," she said, speaking with a curious jerkiness. "You were quite right about Hartwell and Mason. They are adventurers--and they are both waiting for you inside. They want your money very badly. We all want it. Now don't you think you had better postpone your lesson?"

Jacob smiled confidently.

"What I have is yours for the asking," he declared. "It will be theirs only if they can take it."

She suffered him to follow her into the house.

CHAPTER XIII

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 bas.e.m.e.nt 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 n.i.g.g.e.r 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 a.s.sociated 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."