Then the door opened.

"I have come for Miss Roden," I heard him say.

"Roden? Miss Roden? No one of that name lives here."

The voice was that of a woman, and I tried to catch sight of the face.

I had heard that voice before, or one suspiciously like it.

"I will give you two minutes to produce Miss Roden."

The answering voice quivered with sudden indignation.

"You must be intoxicated. Take your foot out of the door and go away, or I'll call a man and have you given in charge."

The voice, rising in shrill, tremulous excitement, would have added something more, but was silenced by a fit of coughing. I left my walnut-tree, pushed open the gate, and arrived at the bungalow door as the coughing ceased and a handkerchief dabbed furtively at a fleck of bright red froth.

"Miss Draper, I believe?" I said.

She looked at me in surprise.

"That is my name."

"We met at Miss Davenant's house in Chester Square. Don't apologize for not remembering me, we were never introduced. I just caught your name. We have called...."

"Is this person a friend of yours?" she asked, pointing a contemptuous finger at the Seraph.

"He is. We have called for Miss Roden."

"She is not here."

"One minute gone," said the Seraph, watch in hand.

Miss Draper turned her head and called to some one inside the house. I think the name was "John."

"I am armed," I warned her.

She paid no attention.

"One minute and a half," said the Seraph.

I put my hand out to cover the watch, and addressed Miss Draper.

"I don't think you appreciate the strength of our position," I began.

"You are no doubt aware that the office of the _New Militant_ has been raided; your friend Mrs. Millington has been arrested, and there is a warrant out against your other friend, Miss Davenant."

"They haven't caught her," said Miss Draper, defiantly.

I could almost forgive her when I saw the look of doglike fidelity that the mention of Joyce's name brought into her eyes.

"Do you know where she is?" asked the Seraph.

"I shan't say."

"I think it probable that you do _not_ know," I answered. "Miss Davenant is critically ill, and is lying at the present time in my friend's flat."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"It doesn't matter whether you believe it or not. The flat is already suspected and watched."

"Why don't they search it?"

"Because England is a corrupt country," I said, boldly inventing. "I have what is called a friend at Court. Miss Davenant's sister--Mrs.

Wylton--is an old friend of mine, and I wish to spare her the pain of seeing Miss Davenant arrested--in a critical condition--if it can be avoided. My friend at Court has been persuaded to suspend the issue of a search-warrant, if Miss Roden and the others are restored to their families before midnight to-night. I may say in passing that if Miss Davenant were arrested, tried and imprisoned, it would be no more than she richly deserved. However, I do not expect you to agree with me.

Out of regard to Mrs. Wylton we have come down here. I need not say how we found Miss Roden was being kept here----"

"She is not."

I sighed resignedly.

"You wish Miss Davenant to be given up?"

"You don't know where Miss Davenant is, and I do."

It was bluff against bluff, but we could go on no longer on the old lines. I produced my revolver as a guarantee of determination, pocketed it once more, pushed my way past her as gently as I could, waited for the Seraph to follow, and then closed the door.

"I am now going to search the house," I told Miss Draper. "This is your last chance. Tell me where Miss Roden is, and I will compound a felony, and let you and every one else in the house escape. Put a single obstacle in my way, and I will have the lot of you arrested.

Which is it to be?"

She started to tell me again that Sylvia was not there. I made a step across the room and saw her cover her face with her hands. The battle was over.

"Where is she?" I demanded, thanking God that it has not often been my lot to fight with women.

Miss Draper pointed to a door on the left of the hall; the key was in the lock.

"No tricks?" I asked.

She shook her head.

"You had better make yourself scarce."

Even as I put my hand to the door she vanished into the back of the house. I heard the sound of an engine starting, and rushed out to see if I had even now been outwitted. The garrison was driving out hatless and coatless, stripped of all honours of war; in the driving-seat sat my friend the bearded priest of the Orthodox Church, his beard somewhat awry. Miss Draper was beside him; there was no one else.

I returned to the hall--where the Seraph was sleeping upright against the wall--opened the door and entered a darkened room. As my eyes grew accustomed to the subdued light, I traced the outline of a window, and drew back the curtains. The sun flooded in, and showed me that I stood in a bedroom. A table with an untasted meal stood against one wall; by the other was a camp bedstead. At length on the bed, fully dressed but blindfolded, gagged, and bound hand and foot, lay Sylvia Roden.

I cut the cords, tore away the bandages, and watched her rise stiffly to her feet. Then I shut the door and stood awkwardly at the window, while she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

It was soon over, but she was the better for it. I watched her drink three tumblers of water and seize a crust of dry bread. It appeared that she had conducted a hunger-strike of her own for the last twenty-four hours; and I think she looked it. Her face was white with the whiteness of a person who has been long confined in a small, dark room. A bruise over one temple showed that her captors had had to deal with a woman of metal, and her wrists were chafed and cut with the pressure of the cords. Worst of all was her change of spirit; the voice had lost its proud ring of assurance, the dark eyes were frightened. Sylvia Roden was almost broken.

"You didn't expect to see me, Sylvia," I said, as I buttered the stale crusts to make them less unappetizing.