ey were caught by iron linch-pins in
the same way that an axle of a red farm cart is fastened on to the
outside of the hub.

"Could Elsie knock them out, did she think?"

Elsie thought she could, but she would need something heavy--like a bar
of iron. She had it--the handle of the broken rake that had been used
in the oven furnace. So the first thing after supper and the departure
of her visitors, Elsie knocked out the pins. I drew out the bolts on
my side, and was free to move about--with, it is true, the rings and
bolts jangling about my ankles. Still, in part I was free, and my
heart rose within me.

First of all I managed with the cord of my hat to tie up the bolts so
that I could move noiselessly about, being careful for the time being
not to go far from my couch. For of course it was necessary for me, at
the first alarm, to undo the cords and thrust the bolts through the
holes, so that no change might be apparent to my jailers. Still, the
thing comforted me. For not only was I able to take some exercise, but
to attend to the proper ordering of my chamber, which had hitherto been
carried out in the most perfunctory manner by Jeremy, and also at very
uncertain intervals.

But what chiefly occupied my mind was the thought that, according to
Elsie the oven was of easy access from her room, and doubtless would
have been visited frequently by whoever had the charge of the baking.

I could therefore, with Elsie's iron bar, if no better turned up, make
a good fight for both our liberties. The situation was getting
altogether too ridiculous for a man of business habits, shut up within
a few miles of his own horses, lorries, his grocery, ironmongery, and
other supplying and contracting establishments.

How I was ever to face Bob Kingsman I did not know. I wondered if all
this time he were taking his orders from "Dearest Joe." Joe indeed! I
lacked confidence in my son as a man of business--as it turned out,
without reason. He might even have brought me to the verge of
bankruptcy. There were, I was informed, two young ladies from London
dwelling in my house, of whom--especially one of them--Elsie reported
to me by code a very poor account. They seemed completely to have
gotten the mastery over my poor wife, who was, as it appeared,
prostrated with grief--a thing I should not have anticipated. On every
account it seemed about time that I should come to life again.

The question was merely one of detail.