“Off with your coat and skirt like lightning, Laura,” Quest ordered.  “This has got to be done quickly or not at all.”

Without a word, and with marvellous rapidity, the change was effected.  Laura produced from her hand-bag a wig, which she pinned inside her hat and passed over to Quest.  Then she flung herself on to the bed and drew the blanket up to her chin.

“How long will he stay like that?” she whispered, pointing to the warder, who was sitting on the floor with his arms folded and his eyes closed.

“Half an hour or so,” Quest answered.  “Don’t bother about him.  I shall drop the key back through the window.”

A moment or two later, Quest walked deliberately down the corridor of the prison, crossed the pavement and stepped into a taxicab.  He reached Georgia Square at five minutes to three.  A glance up and down assured him that the house was unwatched.  He let himself in with his own key and laughed softly as he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror.  The house was strangely quiet and deserted, but he wasted no time in looking around.  He ran quickly upstairs, paused in his sitting-room only to take a cigar from the cabinet, passed on to the bedroom, threw Laura’s clothes off, and, after a few moments’ hesitation, selected from the wardrobe a rough tweed suit with a thick lining and lapels.  Just as he was tying his tie, the little wireless which he had laid on the table at his side began to record the message.  He glanced at the clock.  It was exactly three.

    “I have Craig here in the Professor’s garage, locked up.  If our
    plan has succeeded, come at once.  I am waiting here for you.”

Quest’s eyes shone for a moment with satisfaction.  Then he sent off his answering message, put on a duster and slouch hat, and left the house by the side entrance.  In a few moments he was in Broadway, and a quarter of an hour later a taxicab deposited him at the entrance to the Professor’s house.  He walked swiftly up the drive and turned towards the garage, hoping every moment to see something of Lenora.  The door of the place stood open.  He entered and walked around.  It was empty.  There was no sign of either Craig or Lenora!...

* * * * *

Quest, recovered from his first disappointment, stole carefully out and made a minute examination of the place.  Close to the corner from which Lenora had sent her wireless message to him, he stooped and picked up a handkerchief, which from the marking he recognised at once.  A few feet away, the gravel was disturbed as though by the trampling of several feet.  He set his teeth.  For a single moment his own danger was forgotten.  A feeling which he utterly failed to recognise robbed him of his indomitable nerve.  He realised with vivid but scarcely displeasing potency a weakness in the armour of his complete self-control.

“I’ve got to find that girl,” he muttered.  “Craig can go to hell!”