"Say, Mr. Craig, you're an authority on South America, aren't you? I bought some beans in the market this morning which they told me were grown down there, and my chef don't seem to know what to make of 'em. I wonder whether you would mind stepping up and giving him your advice?"

Craig's much lower voice was inaudible but it was evident that he had consented, for the two men ascended to the third floor together. Quest watched them enter the kitchen. A moment or two later the steward was summoned by a messenger and descended alone. Quest ran quickly down the stairs and planted himself behind the kitchen door. He had hardly taken up his position before the handle was turned. He heard Craig's last words, spoken as he looked over his shoulder.

"You want to just soak them for two hours longer than any other beans in the world. That's all there is about it."

Craig appeared and the door swung back behind him. Before he could utter a cry, Quest's left hand was over his mouth and the cold muzzle of an automatic pistol was pressed to his ribs.

"Turn round and mount those stairs, Craig," Quest ordered.

The man shrunk away, trembling. The pistol pressed a little further into his side.

"Upstairs," Quest repeated firmly. "If you utter a cry I shall shoot you."

Craig turned slowly round and obeyed. He mounted the stairs with reluctant footsteps, followed by Quest.

"Through the door to your right," the latter directed. "That's right! Now sit down in that chair facing me."

Quest closed the door carefully. Craig sat where he had been ordered, his fingers gripping the arms of the chair. In his eyes shone the furtive, terrified light of the trapped criminal.

Quest looked him over a little scornfully. It was queer that a man with apparently so little nerve should have the art and the daring to plan such exploits.

"What do you want with me?" Craig asked doggedly.

"First of all," Quest replied, "I want to know what you have done with my a.s.sistant, the girl whom you carried off from the Professor's garage."

Craig shook his head.

"I know nothing about her."

"She locked you in the garage," Quest continued, "and sent for me. When I arrived, I found the garage door open, Lenora gone and you a fugitive."

Bewilderment struggled for a moment with blank terror in Craig's expression.

"How do you know that she locked me in the garage?"

Quest smiled, stretched out his right arm and his long fingers played softly with the pocket wireless.

"In just the same way," he explained, "that I am sending her this message at the present moment--a message which she will receive and understand wherever she is hidden. Would you like to know what I am telling her?"

The man shivered. His eyes, as though fascinated, watched the little instrument.

"I am saying this, Craig," Quest continued. "Craig is here and in my power. He is sitting within a few feet of me and will not leave this room alive until he has told me your whereabouts. Keep up your courage, Lenora.

You shall be free in an hour."

The trapped man looked away from the instrument into Quest's face. There was a momentary flicker of something that might have pa.s.sed for courage in his tone.

"Mr. Quest," he said, "you are a wonderful man, but there are limits to your power. You can tear my tongue from my mouth but you cannot force me to speak a word."

Quest leaned a little further forward in his chair, his gaze became more concentrated.

"That is where you are wrong, Craig. That is where you make a mistake. In a very few minutes you will be telling me all the secrets of your heart."

Craig shivered, drew back a little in his chair, tried to rise and fell back again helpless.

"My G.o.d!" he cried. "Leave me alone!"

"When you have told me the truth," Quest answered, swiftly, "and you will tell me all I want to know in a few moments.... Your eyelids are getting a little heavy, Craig. Don't resist. Something which is like sleep is coming over you. You see my will has yours by the throat."

Craig seemed suddenly to collapse altogether. He fell over on one side.

Every atom of colour had faded from his cheeks. Quest leaned over him with a frown. The man was in a stupor without a doubt, but it was a physical state of unconsciousness into which he had subsided. He felt his pulse, unb.u.t.toned his coat, and listened for a moment to the beating of his heart. Then he crossed the room, fetched the pitcher of water and dashed some of its contents in Craig's face. In a few moments the man opened his eyes and regained consciousness. His appearance, however, was still ghastly.

"Where am I?" he murmured.

"You are here in my room, at the Servants' Club," Quest replied. "You are just about to tell me where I shall find Lenora."

Craig shook his head. A very weak smile of triumph flickered for a moment at the corners of his lips.

"Your torture chamber trick won't work on me!" he exclaimed. "You can never--"

The whole gamut of emotions seemed already to have spent themselves in the man's face, but at that moment there was a new element, an element of terrified curiosity in the expression of his eyes as he stared towards the door.

"Is this another trick of yours?" he muttered.

Quest, too, turned his head and sprang instantly to his feet. From underneath the door came a little puff of smoke. There was a queer sense of heat of which both men were simultaneously conscious. Down in the street arose a chorus of warning shouts, increasing momentarily in volume.

Quest threw open the door and closed it again at once.

"The place is on fire," he announced briefly. "Pull yourself together, man. We shall have all we can do to get out of this."

Craig turned to the door but staggered back almost immediately.

"The stairs are going!" he shrieked. "It is the kitchen that is on fire.

We are cut off! We cannot get down!"

Quest was on his hands and knees, fumbling under his truckle bed. He pulled out a crude form of fire escape, a rough sort of cradle with a rope attached.

"Know how to use this?" he asked Craig quickly. "Here, catch hold. Put your arms inside this strap."

"You are going to send me down first?" Craig exclaimed incredulously.

Quest smiled. Then he drew the rope round the table and tied it.

"You would like to have a chance of cutting the rope, wouldn't you, when I was half way down?" he asked grimly. "Now then, don't waste time. Get on to the window-sill. Don't brake too much. Off you go!"

Yard by yard, swinging a little in the air, Craig made his descent. When he arrived in the street, there were a hundred willing hands to release him. Quest drew up the rope quickly, warned by a roar of anxious voices.

The walls of the room were crumbling. Volumes of smoke were now pouring in underneath the door, and through the yawning fissures of the wall. Little tongues of flame were leaping out dangerously close to the spot where he must pa.s.s. He let fall the slack of the rope and leaned from the window to watch it anxiously. Then he commenced to descend, letting himself down hand over hand, always with one eye upon that length of rope that swung below. Suddenly, as he reached the second floor, a little cry from the crowd warned him of what had happened. Tongues of flame curling out from the blazing building, had caught the rope, which was being burned through not a dozen feet away from him. He descended a little further and paused in mid-air.

A shout from the crowd reached him.

"The cables! Try the cables!"