“Well,” said Jimmie Dale quietly, “the tables are turned to-day, Benson.  As Jason already knows, this house is watched.  For reasons that I cannot explain, I am in great danger.  Bluntly, I am putting my life in your hands—­and Jason’s.”

Benson looked for an instant from Jimmie Dale to Jason, caught the strained, troubled expression on the old man’s face, then back again at Jimmie Dale.

“D’ye mean that, sir!” he cried.  “Then you can count on me, Mr. Dale, to the last ditch!”

“I know that, Benson,” Jimmie Dale said softly.  “And now, both of you, listen!  It is imperative that I should get away from the house; and equally imperative that those watching should believe that I am still here.  Not even the servants are to be permitted a suspicion that I am not here in my bed, ill.  That, Jason, is your task.  You will allow no one to wait on me but yourself; you will bring the meal trays up regularly—­and eat the food yourself.  You will answer all inquiries, telephone and otherwise, in person—­I am not seeing any one.  You understand perfectly, Jason?”

“I understand, Master Jim.  You need have no fear, sir, on that score.”

“Now, you, Benson,” Jimmie Dale went on.  “A few minutes ago I sent you out in your chauffeur’s togs with that prescription.  You were undoubtedly observed.  I wanted you to be.  It was quite necessary that they should know and be able to recognise you again—­to disabuse their minds later on of the possibility that I might be masquerading in your clothes; and also, of course, that they should know who you were, and what your position was in the household.  Very well!  To-night, at eight o’clock exactly, you are to go out from the back door of the house to the garage.  On the way out—­it will be quite dark then—­I want you to drop something, say, a bunch of keys that you had been jingling in your hand.  You are to experience some difficulty in finding it again, move about a little to force any one that may be lurking by the garage to retreat around the corner.  Grumble a bit and make a little noise; but you are not to overdo it—­a couple of minutes at the outside is enough, by that time I shall be under the car seat.  You will then run the machine out to the street and stop at the curb, jump out, and, as though you had forgotten something, hurry back to the garage.  You must not be away long—­enough only to permit, say, a passer-by to glance into the car and satisfy himself that it is empty.  You understand, of course, Benson, that the hood must be down—­no closed car to invite even the suggestion of concealment—­that would be a fatal blunder.  Drive then to the young lady’s home by as direct a route as you can—­give no appearance of being aware that you are followed, as you will be, and much less the appearance of attempting to elude pursuit.  Act naturally.  Between here and your destination I will manage readily enough to leave the car.  You will then take the young lady for her drive—­that is what they will be interested in—­your motive for going out to-night.  And, as I said, take her driving again on each succeeding night—­establish the habit to their satisfaction.”