The discovery of the prisoner’s flight was not made until Baker knocked on Lady Saxondale’s door and inquired for Miss Garrison at bedtime.  Then it was recalled that she had left the others at nine o’clock, pleading a headache, but she did not go to her room.  Investigation revealed the fact that her jewelry, a cape and a traveling hat were missing.  Remembering her first attempt to escape and recalling the very apparent nervousness that marked her demeanor during the day, Lady Saxondale alarmed the house.

Ten minutes later the conspirators and a knot of sleepy servants stood in the courtyard, staring at the great gate.  It was closed but unlocked.  There were but two known keys to the big lock, and since the arrival of the party at the castle they had not been out of Lord Saxondale’s possession.  The girl could not have used either of them and the lock had not been forced; what wonder, then, that in the first moments of bewilderment they shrank back as if opposed by the supernatural?

No one present had seen her leave the castle, and there was no way of telling how long she had been gone, except that it was not longer than two hours.  After the first shock of realization, however, the men came to the conclusion that assistance had come from the outside, or that there was a traitor on the inside.  They were excitedly questioning the long-trusted servants when Lady Jane made a second discovery.

“Where is Turk?” she cried, and every eye swept through the group.

“Gone, by God!” exclaimed Quentin, in helpless amazement.  No one had given thought to his illness in the excitement of the moment.  He had been called forth with the rest, and when he coughed not even he took note of the fact.  This was no time to think of colds and fevers and such a trifling thing as death.  He shivered, but it was not with the chill of a sick man; it was the shiver of fear.

“Good Lord, he can’t be the one!  Turk would die for me!” he cried, almost piteously.

“He is gone, and so is she,” grated Lord Bob.  “What are we to infer?  He has sold us out, Quentin; that’s the truth of it.”

’’I’m damned!” almost wept Dickey Savage.  “They’ll have a pack of officers here before morning.  I don’t give a hoot for myself, but Lady Saxondale and—­”

“Great heaven! what have I brought you to in my folly?” groaned Quentin, covering his face with his hands.

“Open the gate!” called a hoarse voice outside the wall, and every heart stopped beating, every face went white.  A heavy boot crashed against the gate.

“The officers!” whispered Lady Jane, in terror.  Dickey Savage’s arm went round her.

“Let me in!  Git a move on!’

“It’s Turk!” roared Quentin, springing toward the gate.  An instant later Turk was sprawling inside the circle of light shed by the lantern, and a half-dozen voices were hurling questions at him.

The little man was in a sorry plight.  He was dirt-covered and bloody, and he was so full of blasphemy that he choked in suppressing it.