There was no help for it; they could only wait to see what circumstances had in store for them. It would have been just as well, however, to have known what was in Anstruther's mind when he locked the door. So far as the prisoners could judge, Anstruther had spoken with a kind of jocular contempt, and had apparently acted more to soothe Padini's nervous fears than as if he had moved on the spur of his own suspicions. Rigby had not failed to notice this, and Jack was inclined to agree with him as they discussed the matter in whispers. At any rate, a quarter of an hour passed without any signs without.

"Well, my friend," Rigby muttered, "you always were fond of adventures, even as a boy, and now you seem likely to get your fill of them."

"I don't call this an adventure at all," Jack replied; "not much chance of action here. The prospect of being locked up all night in this cell of a place is not at all alluring. Just try that door again."

But the attempt proved abortive. It was pitch dark there, a darkness like that of Egypt, which could be felt. The mere fact of the sense of sight being suspended seemed to increase the hearing of the prisoners, for they did not fail to note every word that was passing in that room across the corridor. It was plainly evident that the business arrangements which had brought those people here to-night were practically finished, for presently Anstruther could be heard walking down the stairs, shouting his final instructions as he went. A moment later the fine slit of light which gleamed like a thread under the door of the vacant house died away swiftly, therefore proving to Jack and Rigby that the house had been plunged into darkness. It was a proof also that the conspirators had left the premises.

"I think this is where we come in," Jack muttered; "we'll give them another five minutes or so, and then we will run the risk of striking a light. I suppose you have got some matches in your pocket?"

Rigby had purchased an extra-sized box of vestas as he came along, so that there was no trouble on that score. The liberal five minutes had expired before the scratching of a match, and a spurt of blue flame illuminated the room. It was by no means an inviting apartment, being absolutely devoid of furniture save for a tattered carpet on the floor. The carpet had obviously been a good one in its day, in spite of the dust which lay so thickly upon it; the decorations of the walls had evidently been an expensive business. At the same time, it was quite patent that the room had been used for the storage of valuables, seeing that the door fitted close and was lined on the inside with steel. The window, too, was barred heavily, though it was far enough from the ground.

"Well, we are in a nice mess," Jack muttered. "So far as I can see, we shall have to wait here till morning and then summon assistance by means of the window. In the meantime we can devote our energies to making up some ingenious story with a view to deceiving the police. So long as it is daylight, I don't think we have much to fear from Anstruther and Co. Do you think the light shows through the window?"

There appeared to be no fear of that, seeing that the curtain was a comparatively thick one. Over the mantelpiece were the pipe and bracket of a solitary gas-jet. In a fit of idle curiosity Rigby turned on the tap and applied a match to the burner. Much to his surprise, a blue fishtail flame spurted out bright and clear.

"Well, these people don't seem to have half done it," he exclaimed; "they've evidently tapped the gas much in the same way that they tap the electric light, but why they want both beats me."

"Doubtless for something like business purposes," Jack suggested. "It is pretty evident that these people have a lot of mechanical contrivances here, therefore something in the way of heaters would be necessary. My word, how close this room is!"

Rigby was emphatically of the same opinion. He turned off the roaring flame of gas and pulled back the curtain from the window. He successfully fumbled for the catch, and at length managed to raise the sash. The cool, sweet night breeze was grateful to a degree after the stifling atmosphere of the room.

There were no lights to be seen, for the simple reason that they were at the back of the house, and looking down into a dreary sort of forecourt formed by the houses on either side and a big building beyond. As their eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, it was possible to note the fact that the forecourt had at one time been carefully cultivated, for a broken fountain could be made out, and what appeared at one time to have been a well-tended rose garden.

"There's somebody down there," Rigby whispered. "Unless I am greatly mistaken the said somebody is smoking a most excellent cigar. Can't you smell it?"

"Of course I can," Jack responded. "These seem to be rather an aristocratic type of rascal. If you look across to the far corner, beyond that fountain place, you will see the tip of a cigar glowing like a star."

It was exactly as Jack had said. They could see the cigar glowing and fading as the smoker inhaled or exhaled the fragrant tobacco, and a moment later they saw something more. Out of the gloom there approached the figure of a woman, tall, slender, and bareheaded, her dress hidden by a long black cloak that reached to the ground. She spoke quickly and hurriedly, so quickly indeed that the two men at the window found it impossible to follow what she said. They could see pretty plainly, however, and did not fail to notice the fact that the strange woman appeared to be pleading for some favor. She stretched out her long, bare arms to her companion in an attitude of supplication; her long-cloak fell away from her shoulders, disclosing an evening dress of some pale, transparent material. There were diamonds, too, in her fair hair.

"What is the use of wasting my time like this?" the man with the cigar demanded. "You ought to have been at your destination long ago."

"But I couldn't go, I really couldn't, until I had seen you again. Besides, there is no place like this, and no better spot for an interview that one wants to keep a profound secret. For instance, it is hardly possible that any prying eyes are overlooking us. I can't imagine anybody being hidden in this old house. When Anstruther locked that bedroom door just now, do you really suppose he imagined there was anybody on the premises?"

The smoker responded with a contemptuous grunt; it was evident that he entertained no suspicions on that score.

"Perhaps I am unduly nervous and excited to-night," the woman went on. "But I could have almost imagined that there were spies following An............