the window for air, for she was choking with
suspense. The car rushed past the station, down the hill by Peter's
cottage, through the village, and along the lake shore to the Pink
Chalet.

Ivery halted it at the gate. 'See that you fill up with petrol,' he
told the man. 'Bid Gustav get the Daimler and be ready to follow in
half in hour.'

He spoke to Mary through the open window.

'I will keep you only a very little time. I think you had better wait
in the car, for it will be more comfortable than a dismantled house. A
servant will bring you food and more rugs for the night journey.'

Then he vanished up the dark avenue.

Mary's first thought was to slip out and get back to the village and
there to find someone who knew me or could take her where Peter lived.
But the driver would prevent her, for he had been left behind on guard.
She looked anxiously at his back, for he alone stood between her and
liberty.

That gentleman seemed to be intent on his own business. As soon as
Ivery's footsteps had grown faint, he had backed the car into the
entrance, and turned it so that it faced towards St Anton. Then very
slowly it began to move.

At the same moment a whistle was blown shrilly three times. The door on
the right had opened and someone who had been waiting in the shadows
climbed painfully in. Mary saw that it was a little man and that he was
a cripple. She reached a hand to help him, and he fell on to the
cushions beside her. The car was gathering speed.

Before she realized what was happening the new-comer had taken her hand
and was patting it.

* * * * *

About two minutes later I was entering the gate of the Pink Chalet.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The Cage of the Wild Birds

'Why, Mr Ivery, come right in,' said the voice at the table. There was
a screen before me, stretching from the fireplace to keep off the
draught from the door by which I had entered. It stood higher than my
head but there were cracks in it through which I could watch the room.
I found a little table on which I could lean my back, for I was
dropping with fatigue.

Blenkiron sat at the writing-table and in front of him were little rows
of Patience cards. Wood ashes still smouldered in the stove, and a lamp
stood at his right elbow which lit up the two figures. The bookshelves
and the cabinets were in twilight.

'I've been hoping to see you for quite a time.' Blenkiron was busy
arranging the little