“Do you not know that she can tell you nothing?”

Tommy’s heart beat a little faster.  Would he succeed in coming face to face with the girl he was seeking?

“I shall not ask her to tell me anything,” he said quietly.  “Not in so many words, that is.”

“Then why see her?”

Tommy paused.

“To watch her face when I ask her one question,” he replied at last.

Again there was a look in the German’s eyes that Tommy did not quite understand.

“She will not be able to answer your question.”

“That does not matter.  I shall have seen her face when I ask it.”

“And you think that will tell you anything?” He gave a short disagreeable laugh.  More than ever, Tommy felt that there was a factor somewhere that he did not understand.  The German looked at him searchingly.  “I wonder whether, after all, you know as much as we think?” he said softly.

Tommy felt his ascendancy less sure than a moment before.  His hold had slipped a little.  But he was puzzled.  What had he said wrong?  He spoke out on the impulse of the moment.

“There may be things that you know which I do not.  I have not pretended to be aware of all the details of your show.  But equally I’ve got something up my sleeve that you don’t know about.  And that’s where I mean to score.  Danvers was a damned clever fellow——­” He broke off as if he had said too much.

But the German’s face had lightened a little.

“Danvers,” he murmured.  “I see——­” He paused a minute, then waved to Conrad.  “Take him away.  Upstairs—­you know.”

“Wait a minute,” said Tommy.  “What about the girl?”

“That may perhaps be arranged.”

“It must be.”

“We will see about it.  Only one person can decide that.”

“Who?” asked Tommy.  But he knew the answer.

“Mr. Brown——­”

“Shall I see him?”

“Perhaps.”

“Come,” said Conrad harshly.

Tommy rose obediently.  Outside the door his gaoler motioned to him to mount the stairs.  He himself followed close behind.  On the floor above Conrad opened a door and Tommy passed into a small room.  Conrad lit a hissing gas burner and went out.  Tommy heard the sound of the key being turned in the lock.

He set to work to examine his prison.  It was a smaller room than the one downstairs, and there was something peculiarly airless about the atmosphere of it.  Then he realized that there was no window.  He walked round it.  The walls were filthily dirty, as everywhere else.  Four pictures hung crookedly on the wall representing scenes from Faust.  Marguerite with her box of jewels, the church scene, Siebel and his flowers, and Faust and Mephistopheles.  The latter brought Tommy’s mind back to Mr. Brown again.  In this sealed and closed chamber, with its close-fitting heavy door, he felt cut off from the world, and the sinister power of the arch-criminal seemed more real.  Shout as he would, no one could ever hear him.  The place was a living tomb....