without delay?"

"Garn," said Number 14 unexpectedly. "Think we're as green as to do you
in here, and have the police nosing round? Not 'alf! We've ordered the
carriage for your lordship to-morrow mornin', but in the meantime we're
not taking any chances, see!"

"Nothing," said Tommy, "could be plainer than your words--unless it was
your face."

"Stow it," said Number 14.

"With pleasure," replied Tommy. "You're making a sad mistake--but yours
will be the loss."

"You don't kid us that way again," said Number 14. "Talking as though
you were still at the blooming Ritz, aren't you?"

Tommy made no reply. He was engaged in wondering how Mr. Brown had
discovered his identity. He decided that Tuppence, in the throes of
anxiety, had gone to the police, and that his disappearance having been
made public the gang had not been slow to put two and two together.

The two men departed and the door slammed. Tommy was left to his
meditations. They were not pleasant ones. Already his limbs felt cramped
and stiff. He was utterly helpless, and he could see no hope anywhere.

About an hour had passed when he heard the key softly turned, and the
door opened. It was Annette. Tommy's heart beat a little faster. He had
forgotten the girl. Was it possible that she had come to his help?

Suddenly he heard Conrad's voice:

"Come out of it, Annette. He doesn't want any supper to-night."

"Oui, oui, je sais bien. But I must take the other tray. We need the
things on it."

"Well, hurry up," growled Conrad.

Without looking at Tommy the girl went over to the table, and picked up
the tray. She raised a hand and turned out the light.

"Curse you"--Conrad had come to the door--"why did you do that?"

"I always turn it out. You should have told me. Shall I relight it,
Monsieur Conrad?"

"No, come on out of it."

"Le beau petit monsieur," cried Annette, pausing by the bed in the
darkness. "You have tied him up well, hein? He is like a trussed
chicken!" The frank amusement in her tone jarred on the boy; but at
that moment, to his amazement, he felt her hand running lightly over
his bonds, and something small and cold was pressed into the palm of his
hand.

"Come on, Annette."

"Mais me voila."

The door shut. Tommy heard Conrad say:

"Lock it and give me the key."

The footsteps died away. Tommy lay petrified with amazement. The object
Annette had thrust into his hand was a small penknife, the blade open.
From the way she h