"What is it?" Jacob demanded. "Money?"

"Money comes in all right," Hartwell muttered from behind, in an evil tone, "but I guess there's something more than that coming to you before you quit, Pratt."

"Why don't you come in and give it me, then?" Jacob asked. "You're a bigger man than I am, by a long way."

"We're going to wait a bit," Hartwell retorted with a chuckle. "You've been living a little high, Jacob Pratt. We think your system wants lowering."

"You're not talking business yet, then?"

"Not just yet, my dear friend," Montague interposed. "It seems a shame to have taken a dislike to so amiable a gentleman, but the fact remains that we do not like you, Joe Hartwell and I. Once or twice you have been too clever for us. We want to linger over the time when we are just a little too clever for you. So au revoir, Jacob Pratt, until after lunch."

They came again after lunch, redolent of food and drink and tobacco.

"What about a cold chicken and a pint of Mumm, eh?" Montague suggested through the bars.

"Go to h.e.l.l!" Jacob, who had forgotten his early breakfast and liked his meals regularly, retorted.

They indulged in a few other pleasantries, which Jacob cut short with an abrupt question.

"How long is this tomfoolery going on?" he demanded. "What's the end of it all going to be?"

Montague, with his unpleasant, leering face, was pushed away from behind the grating. Hartwell took his place.

"You're going to be paid out for that upper cut you gave me, for one thing," he announced. "We're going to wait until you're tamed, and then you're going to be thrashed within an inch of your life. After that, there's a little estate of the Marquis's round here you might like to buy. We've got the agreement all drawn out."

"And after that," Montague shouted, "G.o.d knows what will happen to you!"...

The afternoon wore on. Towards five o'clock, Jacob, who was sitting in a corner, holding his head, was conscious of a strange sound from seawards. He hurried over to the other window. In a little dinghy, tossed like a cork by the heavy swell, he could see Lady Mary, in an exceedingly becoming bathing dress, trying to balance herself with an oar against the side of the precipitous cliff.

"Are you in there?" she called out.

"Hullo!" Jacob answered. "I should think I was!"

She leaned down and picked up a sea-fishing rod. Jacob was terrified as he saw her swaying backwards and forwards.

"Be careful!" he shouted.

"I'm all right," she a.s.sured him. "If I get a ducking, don't be afraid. I'm out for a swim, anyway. If I can cast inside the opening there, can you reach it?"

"If it's anything to eat, I will," he promised.

"Here goes, then!"

At the fifth or sixth attempt, a package, wrapped in oilskins, landed inside the aperture. Jacob, lifting himself from the floor, reached it at once, undid the fastening, and sent the line clear.

"Don't go away," she cried. "There's whisky coming."

"Angel!" he shouted.

"May take me some time," she called back. "I've had to take out a joint of the rod to carry the weight."

At the third attempt, a couple of flasks, tied together, came clattering into the aperture. Jacob pounced upon them with joy.

"There's some water there," she told him. "Throw all the paper away.

I'll be round again in the morning before any one's up, at about five o'clock. Don't let them scare you. I'm doing things."

"Bless you!" he called out.

"Do you like this bathing suit, or do you prefer the one I wore yesterday?"

"You look divine," he answered. "So do these beef sandwiches."

"What luck those apertures slope downwards," she said, "or you couldn't see me!"

"The luck of my life," he agreed, with his mouth full.

"Do you know why they do slope downwards?" she asked.

"No idea."

"So that prisoners, when they get tired of it, can roll down into the sea."

"I shan't be tired of this for a long time," he a.s.sured her.

There was a pause. Jacob ceased eating for a moment to gaze with admiration at the girl in the boat, carried up and down by the swell, but balancing herself always with an amazing confidence.

"I say, I'm awfully sorry about this," she called up.

"Seems a trifle feudal," he replied. "What will be done with my remains?"

"You eat your sandwiches and don't worry," she insisted. "I told you I was doing things. If they get violent, I'll take a hand.--I'll have to get back unless I want to be swamped."...

Jacob ate half his sandwiches, drank a good deal of whisky and water, and took a little exercise. He then had a nap, woke up and finished his sandwiches with an amazingly good appet.i.te, had another whisky and water and thrust the flask into his pocket. He lit a cigarette, doubled up his coat, and was lounging against the wall when he heard the key once more turn in the lock of the downstairs door. There was the sound of ascending footsteps, and presently Montague's glittering shirt front appeared through the grating. Joe Hartwell again was by his side. They peered in.

"Cheerio!" Jacob exclaimed.

Montague was a little taken aback.

"You're bearing up pretty well," he observed.

"What have I got to bear up about?" Jacob demanded. "I've just had a d.a.m.ned good meal."

Montague regarded his prisoner with a gleam of admiration in his face.

"You're a well plucked 'un, Pratt," he observed. "What a saddle of mutton we've just had for dinner!"

"Nothing to the sirloin I've just had," Jacob rejoined.

Hartwell pushed a flask of water and a hunk of bread through the grating.