“Of course,” said Hacking, who scenting a scandal would have promised much more than this to obtain the details of it.

“What will you swear by?”

“Oh, anything,” Hacking offered, without the least hesitation.  “I don’t mind what it is.”

“Well, what do you consider the most sacred thing in the world?”

If Hacking had known himself, he would have said food; not knowing himself, he suggested the Bible.

“I suppose you know that if you swear something on the Bible and break your oath you can be put in prison?” Mark demanded sternly.

“Yes, of course.”

The oath was administered, and Hacking waited goggle-eyed for the revelation.

“Is that all?” he asked when Mark stopped.

“Well, it’s enough, isn’t it?  And now you’ve got to help him to escape.”

“But I didn’t swear I’d do that,” argued Hacking.

“All right then.  Don’t.  I thought you’d enjoy it.”

“We should get into a row.  There’d be an awful shine.”

“Who’s to know it’s us?  I’ve got a friend in the country.  And I shall telegraph to him and ask if he’ll hide Pomeroy.”

Mark was not sufficiently sure of Hacking’s discretion or loyalty to mention Dorward’s name.  After all this business wasn’t just a rag.

“The first thing is for you to go out in the garden and attract Pomeroy’s attention.  He’s locked in his bedroom.”

“But I don’t know which is his bedroom,” Hacking objected.

“Well, you don’t suppose the whole family are locked in their bedrooms, do you?” asked Mark scornfully.

“But how do you know his bedroom is on this side of the house?”

“I don’t,” said Mark.  “That’s what I want to find out.  If it’s in the front of the house, I shan’t want your help, especially as you’re so funky.”

Hacking went out into the garden, and presently he came back with the news that Pomeroy was waiting outside to talk to Mark over the wall.

“Waiting outside?” Mark repeated.  “What do you mean, waiting outside?  How can he be waiting outside when he’s locked in his bedroom?”

“But he’s not,” said Hacking.

Sure enough, when Mark went out he found Cyril astride the party wall between the two gardens waiting for him.

“You can’t let your father drag you off to Australia like this,” Mark argued.  “You’ll go all to pieces there.  You’ll lose your faith, and take to drink, and—­you must refuse to go.”

Cyril smiled weakly and explained to Mark that when once his father had made up his mind to do something it was impossible to stop him.

Thereupon Mark explained his scheme.

“I’ll get an answer from Dorward to-night and you must escape to-morrow afternoon as soon as it’s dark.  Have you got a rope ladder?”

Cyril smiled more feebly than ever.