“Mr. Paul Harley?”

“Yes, what have you to say?”

“By this time, Mr. Harley, you must have recognized that opposition is futile.  At any moment we could visit death upon you.  Escape, on the other hand, is out of the question.  We desire you no harm.  For diplomatic reasons, we should prefer you to live.  Our cause is a sacred one.  Do not misjudge it by minor incidents.  A short statement and a copy of your English testament shall be placed upon the table, if you wish.”

“I do not wish,” Paul Harley returned.

“Is that your last word, Mr. Harley?  We warn you that the third time of asking will be the last time.”

“This is my last word.”

“Your own life is not the only stake at issue.”

“What do you mean?”

“You will learn what we mean, if you insist upon withholding your consent until we next invite it.”

“Nevertheless, you may regard it as withheld, definitely and finally.”

Silence fell, and Paul Harley knew himself to be once more alone.  Luncheon appeared upon the table whilst he was washing in the bathroom.  Remembering the change in the tone of the unseen speaker’s voice, he avoided touching anything.

From the divan, through half-closed eyes, he examined every inch of the walls, seeking for the spy-hole through which he knew himself to be watched.  He detected it at last:  a little grating, like a ventilator, immediately above him where he sat.  This communicated with some room where a silent watcher was constantly on duty!

Paul Harley gave no sign that he had made this discovery.  But already his keen wits were at work upon a plan.  He watched the bar of light fading, fading, until, judging it to be dinner time, he retired discreetly.

When he returned, he found dinner spread upon the table.

He wondered for what ordeal the neophyte was prepared in this singular apartment.  He wondered how such neophytes were chosen, and to what tests they were submitted before being accepted as members of the bloodthirsty order.  He could not even surmise.

Evidently no neophyte had been accepted on the previous night, unless there were other like chambers in the house.  The occupants of the shuttered cars must therefore have been more advanced members.  He spent the night in the little cell-like bedchamber, and his second day of captivity began as the first had begun.

For his dinner he had eaten nothing but bread and fruit.  For his breakfast he ate an egg and drank water from the tap in the bathroom.  His plan was now nearing completion.  Only one point remained doubtful.

At noon the voice again addressed him from behind the gilded screen: 

“Mr. Paul Harley?”

“Yes?”

“Your last opportunity has come.  For your own future or for that of the world you seem to care little or nothing.  Are you still determined to oppose our wishes?”