d wall for a couple of
feet suddenly ceased, and the design was continued with an expanse of
stretched canvas, which yielded easily to his finger. He leaned his ear
against it; he could hear now distinctly the sound of voices--he heard
even the woman's laughter. For the height of about four feet the wall
had been bodily removed. He made a small hole in the canvas--there was
still darkness. He enlarged the hole until he could thrust his hand
through--there was nothing but canvas the other side. He knew now where
he was. There was only that single thickness of canvas between him and
the room. He had but to make the smallest hole in it and he would be
able to see through. Even now, with the removal of the barrier on his
side, the voices were more distinct. A complete section of the wall had
evidently been taken out and replaced by a detachable framework of wood
covered with stretched canvas. He stood back for a moment and felt with
his finger; he could almost trace the spot where the woodwork fitted
upon hinges. Then he went on his hands and knees again, and with his
penknife in his hand he paused to listen. He could hear the man Crease
talking--a slow, nasal drawl. Then he heard Pritchard's voice, followed
by what seemed to be a groan. There was a silence, then Elizabeth seemed
to ask a question. He heard her low laugh and some note in it sent a
shiver through his body. Pritchard was speaking fiercely now. Then, in
the middle of his sentence, there was silence once more, followed by
another groan. He could almost feel the people in that room holding
their breaths.

Tavernake was rapidly forgetting all caution. The point of his knife was
through the canvas. Slowly he worked it round until a small piece, the
size of a half-crown, was partially cut through. With infinite pains he
got his head and shoulders into the small recess and for the first time
looked into the room. Pritchard was sitting almost in the middle of the
apartment; his arms seemed to be bound to the chair and his legs were
tied together. A few yards away, Elizabeth, her fur coat laid aside, was
lounging back in an easy-chair, her dress all glittering with sequins,
a curious light in her eyes, a cruel smile parting her lips. By her
side--sitting, in fact, on the arm of her chair--was Crease, his long,
worn face paler, even, than usual; his lips curled in a smile of cynical
amusement. Major Post was there, carefully dressed as though he had been
attending some