He stopped in his walk, and, after a moment, dropped down into the lounging chair again.  That was it, of course.  An empty cage!  If he could escape from the house!  Not so much without their seeing him; that was more or less a mechanical detail.  But escape—­and leave them in possession of a sort of guarantee or assurance that he was still there!  That would give him the freedom of action that he must have.  He smiled with bitter irony.  That solved the problem!  That was all there was to it—­just that!  It was very simple, exceedingly simple; it was only—­impossible!

The smile left his lips, and once more his hands, clenched fiercely.  No; it was not impossible!  It must be done—­if he was to win through, if he was even to save himself!  It must be done—­or fail her!  It could be done; there was a way—­if he could only see it!

CHAPTER VII

The “Hour”

As the minutes passed, many of them, Jimmie Dale sat there motionless, staring before him at the desk that was faintly outlined in the unlighted room.  Then somewhere in the house a clock struck the hour.  Five o’clock!  He raised his head.  Yes!  It could be done!  There was a way!  He had the germ of it now.  And now the plan began to grow, to take form and shape in his mind, to dovetail, to knit the integral parts into a comprehensive whole.  There was a way—­but he must have assistance.  Jason—­yes, assuredly.  Benson, his chauffeur—­yes, equally as trustworthy as Jason.  Benson was devoted to him; and moreover Benson was young, alert, daring, cool.  He had had more than one occasion to test Benson’s resourcefulness and nerve!

Jimmie Dale rose abruptly, went to the rear window, and, parting the curtains cautiously, stood peering down into the courtyard.  Yes, it was feasible; even a little more than feasible.  The garage fronted the driveway, of course, to give free entrance and egress to the cars, but where the wall of the garage and the rear wall of the house overlapped, as it were, the space between them was not much more than ten yards; and here the shadows of the two walls, mingling, lay like a black, impenetrable pathway—­not like that other shadow he had seen moving at the side of the garage, and that, if not for the moment discernible, was none the less surely still lurking there!

Satisfied, Jimmie Dale swung briskly from the window, and, going now to his bedroom across the hall, undressed and went to bed—­but not to sleep.  There would be time enough to sleep, all day, if he wished; now, there were still the little details to be thought out that, more than anything else, could make or wreck his plans.  A point overdone, the faintest suggestion of a false note where men of the calibre of those against whom he was now fighting for his life were concerned, would not only make his scheme abortive, but would place him utterly at their mercy.