“For I am content to abide in the shadow

So long as the sunshine falls brightly on thee.”

In Vienna -I have an account to square.” His voice had changed; the words came slowly; there were strange undertones of reluctance, effort, fear. Grey Mask’s one weakness was a weakness still. It was not the least of Esther Brandon’s many triumphs.

With a quick jerk Freddy Pelham slammed the door on them. The bolts were shot with violence.

Margaret listened as she had done before, and heard no further sound. She put out her hand and groped for Charles. And then a dreadful thought struck her rigid. Suppose Freddy hadn’t really gone? Suppose he were just waiting there on the other side of the door to see what they would do-listening, waiting, ready to break in on them and snatch away their little lingering hope.

She crept to the door, laid her ear against the crack, and listened with such intensity that it seemed to her as if she must hear every sound in the world.

She could hear nothing.

Then in the dark beside her Charles Moray moved, struggling into a sitting position. Instantly she forgot Freddy. Still on her knees, she turned; her arm flung out, struck against his shoulder and came about him in a movement astonishingly full of protecting strength. She began to whisper to him:

“Charles-are you all right? I’ll get this dreadful thing out of your mouth-if I were only sure he’d gone-do you think it’s safe? Wait-wait-just a minute-whilst I listen again. Are you all right? Move your head if you are.”

She felt it move, and turned back to the door. Not a sound-not one smallest sound. After all, why should he wait? He wouldn’t wait-he would want to get away.

She turned round again.

“I think it’s all right. He’d want to get away. I want you to lean against me-yes, like that-so that I can feel just where you are. I came straight from the shop, so I’ve got my scissors. I’ve been thinking of them all the time. I can cut that horrible bandage, only you must keep awfully still.”

The fingers of her right hand went to her coat, unbuttoning it. The scissors hung at her side, a good strong pair, really made for use. She cut through the ribbon that held them, and then, shielding the point with a very careful finger, guided them to where the bandage crossed his left ear. The gag had been tied on with a silk handkerchief. Once the point was under the tight fold, it was easily cut.

Charles had never experienced a more blessed relief. He coughed, spluttered, and spat out the gag-another handkerchief by the feel of it. Margaret was fingering the rope at his wrists. This was silk too-one of those heavy cords that are used to loop back the old-fashioned type of curtain. The knots might have defied her, but the strands were soon cut through.

“That’s great!”

He stretched his arms, then felt his head gingerly.

“Are you all right? Charles-”

“Right as rain.”

“Ssh! Perhaps he’s still there. He mustn’t hear you speak. Do you think he’s gone?”

“My dear, what does it matter?”

“He-why did you say that?”

Charles put his arm round her.

“We’d better face it, old girl. We’re through. If he came back and shot us, it would be quicker.”

She did not speak for a minute. She did not speak, because for a long minute she was too happy to speak. She leaned against Charles in the darkness and felt his arm about her, very strong, very steady. Nothing seemed to matter.

The arm about her tightened.

“Margaret!”

She turned her face to him.

“Margaret-we’re together!”

“Yes-” The word was a sighing breath.

“I’ve been an utter beast to you. I-I loved you all the time.”

He felt her draw away.

“I thought-you loved Greta.”

“Good Lord! I’m not a nursemaid! The creature’s about five years old! You didn’t really think so?”

“I did.”

“My darling idiot!”

He kissed her.

“Do you think so now-now-now? Why are you crying-Meg?”

Margaret hid her face against him.

“Because I’m so-happy.”

There was a blessed silence. The cellar, the darkness, the desperate, hopeless state in which they stood, were just the outer shadow which could not touch them. Margaret, at least, was in some joyful place of heart’s desire, the haven which she had longed for and never hoped to see.

To Charles the shadow was a visible menace. He spoke first:

“They’ll look for us-they’re bound to look for us.”

But even at the sound of his own words his heart sank. They might look; but how would they ever find them here?

“If we’d a light. Do you know how big this place is?”

“No. I don’t think there’s any way out, or he wouldn’t have left us. But, Charles, they will look for us.”

“Did anyone know you were coming here?”

“One of the girls at the shop did. I told her I was going to say good-bye to my stepfather. And-and Archie knew-” She stopped, trying to remember exactly what she had said to Archie.

“What?”

“I’m trying to think. I said-yes, I’m sure I only said-I didn’t mention Freddy’s name-I told Archie to go to the police. And he didn’t want to. Did he know about me?”

“I told him last night. It seems about a hundred years ago. What did you say to him?”

“I said there was someone who might know where Greta was. Oh, Charles, I wonder where she is?”

“Is that all you said?”

“I think so. But if he was to ask at the shop, they might think-”

“This place is so damnably well hidden.”

“Charles, I want to tell you-does it make it worse for you to hope? I do think there’s some hope.”

“Where?”

To Charles there seemed to be no hope at all.

“Because-I’ll tell you-you know when I was sitting at the table up there in the study-I was desperate-I felt I must do something after he said that about the cellars. I don’t know if you could see me. I had my arms on the table, and I put my head down and pretended I was crying. I wasn’t crying. I’d seen a pencil, and I got it in my fingers and wrote on a bit of paper. I wrote ‘Cellars-C and M.’ I kept the paper in the palm of my hand. I’d thought what I would do-it was just a chance, but it was the only thing I could think of. All the time he was talking and walking up and down, I was trying to think. And I tore up some little bits of paper quite small and kept them in my other hand. When I went back to the window as if I was frightened- oh, I was frightened-I didn’t have to pretend-I was horribly frightened-because I thought he’d shoot you if he found out-I-”

“What did you do?” Charles said quickly.

“I stuck the paper on the glass-on the windowpane. I’d sucked my finger and made it wet, and stuck the paper on the glass-the bit I’d written on. I wasn’t sure if it would stick but it did. It’s only a chance, but if he doesn’t find it, they will.”

Charles held her tight.

“It’s behind the blind?”

“Yes.”

“He won’t pull up the blind. Why should he? I don’t believe he’ll find it. Archie’s bound to come here. Margaret- darling-darling-darling-I believe you’ve saved us!”

“I couldn’t think of anything else except-except-I dropped a little bit of paper on the stairs, and here and there on the way down to the basement, and one at the wine-cellar door, and two or three where the packing-cases are hiding this little door. I had to chance his seeing them. But he only had a torch. I thought I was bound to risk it. Do you think-do you really think they’ll find us?”

A cold revulsion sobered Charles. The hope which had carried him away offered so much. It gave him happiness, love-and Margaret. He was afraid to look at what it offered him.

“I-don’t-know,” he said.