“Don’t be a little fool!  Do you really think I want a hue and cry for murder out after me?  If you’ve any sense at all, you’ll realize that poisoning you wouldn’t suit my book at all.  It’s a sleeping draught, that’s all.  You’ll wake up to-morrow morning none the worse.  I simply don’t want the bother of tying you up and gagging you.  That’s the alternative—­and you won’t like it, I can tell you!  I can be very rough if I choose.  So drink this down like a good girl, and you’ll be none the worse for it.”

In her heart of hearts Tuppence believed her.  The arguments she had adduced rang true.  It was a simple and effective method of getting her out of the way for the time being.  Nevertheless, the girl did not take kindly to the idea of being tamely put to sleep without as much as one bid for freedom.  She felt that once Mrs. Vandemeyer gave them the slip, the last hope of finding Tommy would be gone.

Tuppence was quick in her mental processes.  All these reflections passed through her mind in a flash, and she saw where a chance, a very problematical chance, lay, and she determined to risk all in one supreme effort.

Accordingly, she lurched suddenly off the bed and fell on her knees before Mrs. Vandemeyer, clutching her skirts frantically.

“I don’t believe it,” she moaned.  “It’s poison—­I know it’s poison.  Oh, don’t make me drink it”—­her voice rose to a shriek—­“don’t make me drink it!”

Mrs. Vandemeyer, glass in hand, looked down with a curling lip at this sudden collapse.

“Get up, you little idiot!  Don’t go on drivelling there.  How you ever had the nerve to play your part as you did I can’t think.”  She stamped her foot.  “Get up, I say.”

But Tuppence continued to cling and sob, interjecting her sobs with incoherent appeals for mercy.  Every minute gained was to the good.  Moreover, as she grovelled, she moved imperceptibly nearer to her objective.

Mrs. Vandemeyer gave a sharp impatient exclamation, and jerked the girl to her knees.

“Drink it at once!” Imperiously she pressed the glass to the girl’s lips.

Tuppence gave one last despairing moan.

“You swear it won’t hurt me?” she temporized.

“Of course it won’t hurt you.  Don’t be a fool.”

“Will you swear it?”

“Yes, yes,” said the other impatiently.  “I swear it.”

Tuppence raised a trembling left hand to the glass.

“Very well.”  Her mouth opened meekly.

Mrs. Vandemeyer gave a sigh of relief, off her guard for the moment.  Then, quick as a flash, Tuppence jerked the glass upward as hard as she could.  The fluid in it splashed into Mrs. Vandemeyer’s face, and during her momentary gasp, Tuppence’s right hand shot out and grasped the revolver where it lay on the edge of the washstand.  The next moment she had sprung back a pace, and the revolver pointed straight at Mrs. Vandemeyer’s heart, with no unsteadiness in the hand that held it.