o pass out a free man.

A motor car was drawn up at the side of the kerb as he emerged, and a
man in a long overcoat, with another slung on his arm, was pacing up and
down.

He wheeled at the closing of the gate, and they stood face to face.

There was a moment's difficult silence; then the man with the motor
spoke.

"Mr. West, I think?"

The other looked him up and down in a single comprehensive glance that
was like the flash of a sword blade.

"Certainly," he said curtly, "if you prefer it."

He was a short, thick-set man of past forty, with a face so grimly lined
as to mask all expression. His eyes alone were vividly alert. They were
the bluest eyes that Babbacombe had ever seen.

He accepted the curt acknowledgment with grave courtesy, and made a
motion toward the car.

"Will you get in? My name is Babbacombe. I am here to meet you, as no
doubt you have been told. You had better wear this"--opening out the
coat he carried.

But West remained motionless, facing him on the grey, deserted road.
"Before I come with you," he said, in his brief, clipped style, "there
is one thing I want to know. Are you patronising me for the sake of
philanthropy, or for--some other reason?"

As he uttered the question, he fixed Babbacombe with a stare that was
not without insolence.

Babbacombe did not hesitate in his reply. He was not a man to be lightly
disconcerted.

"You can put it down to anything you like," he said, "except
philanthropy."

West considered a moment.

"Very well, sir," he said finally, his aggressive tone slightly
modified. "In that case I will come with you."

He turned about, and thrust his arms into the coat Babbacombe held for
him, turned up the collar, and without a backward glance, stepped into
the waiting motor.

Babbacombe started the engine, and followed him. In another moment they
had glided away into the dripping mist, and the prison was left behind.

Through mile after mile they sped in silence. West sat with his chin
buried in his coat, his keen eyes staring straight ahead. Babbacombe, at
the wheel, never glanced at him once.

Through villages, through towns, through long stretches of open country
they glided, sometimes slackening, but never stopping. The sun broke
through at length, revealing a country of hills and woods and silvery
running streams. They had been travelling for hours. It was nearly noon.

For the first time since their start Babbacombe spoke.

"I hope I have