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 liked 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 voilà.’
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 had studiously avoided looking at him, and her action with the light, he came to the conclusion that the room was overlooked. There must be a peep-hole somewhere in the walls. Remembering how guarded she had always been in her manner, he saw that he had probably been under observation all the time. Had he said anything to give himself away? Hardly. He had revealed a wish to escape and a desire to find Jane Finn, but nothing that could have given a clue to his own identity. True, his question to Annette had proved that he was personally unacquainted with Jane Finn, but he had never pretended otherwise. The question now was, did Annette really know more? Were her denials intended primarily for the listeners? On that point he could come to no conclusion.
But there was a more vital question that drove out all others. Could he, bound as he was, manage to cut his bonds? He essayed cautiously to rub the open blade up and down on the cord that bound his two wrists together. It was an awkward business and drew a smothered ‘Ow’ of pain from him as the knife cut into his wrist. But slowly and doggedly he went on sawing to and fro. He cut the flesh badly, but at last he felt the cord slacken. With his hands free, the rest was easy. Five minutes later he stood upright with some difficulty owing to the cramp in his limbs. His first care was to bind up his bleeding wrist. Then he sat on the edge of the bed to think. Conrad had taken the key of the door, so he could expect little more assistance from Annette. The only outlet from the room was the door, consequently he would perforce have to wait until the two men returned to fetch him. But when they did … Tommy smiled! Moving with infinite caution in the dark room, he found and unhooked the famous picture. He felt an economical pleasure that his first plan would not be wasted. There was now nothing to do but to wait. He waited.
The night passed slowly. Tommy lived through an eternity of hours, but at last he heard footsteps. He stood upright, drew a deep breath, and clutched the picture firmly.
The door opened. A faint light streamed in from outside. Conrad went straight towards the gas to light it. Tommy deeply regretted that it was he who had entered first. It would have been pleasant to get even with Conrad. Number Fourteen followed. As he stepped across the threshold, Tommy brought the picture down with terrific force on his head. Number Fourteen went down amidst a stupendous crash of broken glass. In a minute Tommy had slipped out and pulled to the door. The key was in the lock. He turned it and withdrew it just as Conrad hurled himself against the door from the inside with a volley of curses.
For a moment Tommy hesitated. There was the sound of someone stirring on the floor below. Then the German’s voice came up the stairs.
‘Gott im Himmel! Conrad, what is it?’
Tommy felt a small hand thrust into his. Beside him stood Annette. She pointed up a rickety ladder that apparently led to some attics.
‘Quick – up here!’ She dragged him after her up the ladder. In another moment they were standing in a dusty garret littered with lumber. Tommy looked round.
‘This won’t do. It’s a regular trap. There’s no way out.’
‘Hush! Wait.’ The girl put her finger to her lips. She crept to the top of the ladder and listened.
The banging and beating on the door was terrific. The German and another were trying to force the door in. Annette explained in a whisper:
‘They will think you are still inside. They cannot hear what Conrad says. The door is too thick.’
‘I thought you could hear what went on in the room?’
‘There is a peep-hole into the next room. It was clever of you to guess. But they will not think of that – they are only anxious to get in.’
‘Yes – but look here –’
‘Leave it to me.’ She bent down. To his amazement, Tommy saw that she was fastening the end of a long piece of string to the handle of a big cracked jug. She arranged it carefully, then turned to Tommy.
‘Have you the key of the door?’
‘Yes.’
‘Give it to me.’
He handed it to her.
‘I am going down. Do you think you can go half-way, and then swing yourself down behind the ladder, so that they will not see you?’
Tommy nodded.
‘There’s a big cupboard in the shadow of the landing. Stand behind it. Take the end of this string in your hand. When I’ve let the others out – pull!’
Before he had time to ask her anything more, she had flitted lightly down the ladder and was in the midst of the group with a loud cry:
‘Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! Qu’est-ce qu’il y a?’
The German turned on her with an oath.
‘Get out of this. Go to your room!’
Very cautiously Tommy swung himself down the back of the ladder. So long as they did not turn round, all was well. He crouched behind the cupboard. They were still between him and the stairs.
‘Ah!’ Annette appeared to stumble over something. She stooped. ‘Mon Dieu, voilà la clef!’
The German snatched it from her. He unlocked the door. Conrad stumbled out, swearing.
‘Where is he? Have you got him?’
‘We have seen no one,’ said the German sharply. His face paled. ‘Who do you mean?’
Conrad gave vent to another oath.
‘He’s got away.’
‘Impossible. He would have passed us.’
At that moment, with an ecstatic smile Tommy pulled the string. A crash of crockery came from the attic above. In a trice the men were pushing each other up the rickety ladder and had disappeared into the darkness above.
Quick as a flash Tommy leapt from his hiding-place and dashed down the stairs, pulling the girl with him. There was no one in the hall. He fumbled over the bolts and chain. At last they yielded, the door swung open. He turned. Annette had disappeared.
Tommy stood spell-bound. Had she run upstairs again? What madness possessed her! He fumed with impatience, but he stood his ground. He would not go without her.
And suddenly there was an outcry overhead, an exclamation from the German, and then Annette’s voice, clear and high:
‘Ma foi, he has escaped! And quickly! Who would have thought it?’
Tommy still stood rooted to the ground. Was that a command to him to go? He fancied it was.
And then, louder still, the words floated down to him:
‘This is a terrible house. I want to go back to Marguerite. To Marguerite. To Marguerite!’
Tommy had run back to the stairs. She wanted him