But the effort of creating the protest exhausted her so that she could not utter it. And she knew that the words were stilted and artificial, and the working-cells of her brain whispered that she was recalling and adapting something she had heard at the theatre. She wanted to do the easiest thing, and it seemed absurdly easy to say "yes."
"You will stay here until the parson comes," said van Heerden, "and you will not attempt to escape, will you?"
"No, I won't attempt to escape," she said.
"Lie down."
She sat on the bed and swung her feet clear of the ground, settling herself comfortably.
"She'll do," said van Heerden, satisfied. "Come downstairs, Milsom, I have something to say to you."
So they left her, lying with her cheek on her hand, more absorbed in the pattern on the wall-paper than in the tremendous events which threatened.
"Well, what's the trouble?" asked Milsom, seating himself in his accustomed place by the table.
"This," said van Heerden, and threw a letter across to him. "It came by one of my scouts this morning—I didn't go home last night. I cannot risk being shadowed here."
Milsom opened the letter slowly and read:
- " A man called upon you yesterday afternoon and has made several calls since. He was seen by Beale, who cross-examined him. Man calls himself Stardt, but is apparently not British. He is staying at Saraband Hotel, Berners Street."
"Who is this?" asked Milsom.
"I dare not—hope" replied the doctor, pacing the room nervously.
"Suppose you dared, what form would your hope take?"
"I told you the other day," said van Heerden, stopping before his companion, "that I had asked my Government to assist me. Hitherto they have refused, that is why
