“Have you liberty to tell lies as to his whereabouts?” Catherine demanded.  “You deliberately told the Council he had escaped, yet, entirely owing to Mr. Furley, I find you down here at Bermondsey with him.  What were you going to do with him when I came in?”

“Persuade him to restore the packet, if we could,” Fenn answered sullenly.

“Rubbish!” Catherine retorted.  “You know very well that he is our friend.  You have only to tell him the truth, and your task with him is at an end.”

“Steady!” Julian muttered.  “Don’t imagine that I have any sympathy with your little nest of conspirators.”

“That is only because you do not understand,” Catherine assured him.  “Listen, and you shall hear the whole truth.  I will tell you what is inside that packet and whose signatures you will find there.”

Julian gripped her wrist suddenly.  His eyes were filled with a new fear.  He was watching the two men, who were whispering together.

“Catherine,” he exclaimed warningly, “look out!  These men mean mischief.  That devil Bright invents a new poisonous gas every day.  Look at Fenn buckling on his mask.  Quick!  Get out if you can!”

Catherine’s hand touched her bosom.  Bright sprang towards her, but he was too late.  She raised a little gold whistle to her lips, and its pealing summons rang through the room.  Fenn dropped his mask and glanced towards Bright.  His face was livid.

“Who’s outside?” he demanded.

“The Bishop and Mr. Furley.  Great though my confidence is in you both, I scarcely ventured to come here alone.”

The approaching footsteps were plainly audible.  Fenn shrugged his shoulders with a desperate attempt at carelessness.

“I don’t know what is in your mind, Miss Abbeway,” he said.  “You can scarcely believe that you, at any rate, were in danger at our hands.”

“I would not trust you a yard,” she replied fiercely.  “In any case, it is better that the others should come.  Mr. Orden might not believe me.  He will at least believe the Bishop.”

“Believe whom?” Julian demanded.

The door was opened.  The Bishop and Miles Furley came hastily in.  Catherine stepped forward to meet them.

“I was obliged to whistle,” she explained, a little hysterically.  “I do not trust either of these men.  That fiend Bright has a poisonous gas with him in a pocket cylinder.  I am convinced that they meant to murder Julian.”

The two newcomers turned towards the couch and exchanged amazed greetings with Julian.  Fenn threw his mask on to the table with an uneasy laugh.

“Miss Abbeway,” he protested, “is inclined to be melodramatic.  The gas which Bright has in that cylinder is simply one which would produce a little temporary unconsciousness.  We might have used it—­we may still use it—­but if you others are able to persuade Mr. Orden to restore the packet, our task with him is at an end.  We are not his gaolers—­or perhaps he would say his torturers—­for pleasure.  The Council has ordered that we should extort from him the papers you know of and has given us carte blanche as to the means.  If you others can persuade him to restore them peaceably, why, do it.  We are prepared to wait.”