“After that?” said Harleston.

“You shall be at liberty to depart and to tell.”

“And if I do not give my word?”

“Then,” said Crenshaw pleasantly, “we shall be obliged to bind you and gag you and leave you to be discovered by the maid—­which, we shall carefully provide, will not be before eight tomorrow morning.”

“You leave small choice,” Harleston observed.

“Just the choice between comfort and discomfort!” Crenshaw laughed.  “Which shall it be, sir?”

Harleston had been shifting slowly from one foot to the other, feeling behind him for the man with the garrote.  He had him located now and the precise position where he was standing—­one of his own legs was touching Sparrow’s.

At the instant Crenshaw had finished his question, Harleston suddenly kicked backwards, landing with all the force of his sharp heel full on Sparrow’s shin.

Instantly the garrote loosened; and Harleston, with a wild yell, sprang forward and swung straight at the point of Crenshaw’s jaw.

Crenshaw dodged it—­and the two men grappled and went down, fighting furiously; Harleston letting out shouts all the while, and even managing to overturn a table, which fell with a terrific smash of broken glass and bric-a-brac, to attract attention and lead to an investigation.

He had not much trouble in mastering Crenshaw; but Sparrow, when he was done spinning around on one foot from the agonizing pain of the kick on the shin, would be another matter; the two men and the woman could overpower him, unless assistance came quickly.  And to that end he raised all the uproar possible for the few seconds that Sparrow spun and the woman stared.

Just as Sparrow hobbled to Crenshaw’s aid, Harleston landed a short arm blow on the latter’s ear and sprang up, avoided the former’s rush and made for the hall-way.

At the same moment came a loud pounding on the corridor door.  The noise had been effective.

In a bound, Harleston reached the door; it should, as he knew, open from within by a turn of the knob.  But it was double-locked on the inside and the key was missing.

He whirled—­just in time to see the last of the mixed trio disappear into the drawing-room, and the door snap shut behind them.

He sped across and flung himself against it—­it was locked.

Meanwhile the pounding on the corridor door went on.

“Try another door!” Harleston shouted.

But by reason of the heavy door and the din, some time elapsed before he could attract the attention of those in the corridor and make himself understood.  Then more time was consumed in getting the floor-maid with the pass-key to the room adjoining the drawing-room of the suite.

By that time, the manager of the hotel had come up and put himself at the head of the relief; and he was not in the best of temper when he entered and saw the debris of the bric-a-brac and the table.