but he felt sure of himself now. Mrs. Alden was his prisoner—a hostage, if he chose, for his own escape, unless, indeed, she had finally revolted and come to his aid.
"Get up," he said roughly.
The woman's sigh conveyed relief. Something scraped beneath her hand. A tiny flame was born and entered into the base of the rubbish.
Then the woman turned slowly, and, in the light of the flame, Garth looked into Nora's excited eyes and smiling face.
Incredulous, he grasped her arms, lifted her to her feet, and stared. The growing flame struck a flash from his knife, drove into his brain a full realization of the monstrous misunderstanding which had nearly involved them in unspeakable disaster.
"Good God, Nora! I nearly—I tried to—"
Her smile grew.
"I didn't know what I should find in here. I couldn't afford to take chances."
"But I left you in New York," he went on uncertainly. "How did you come? Why are you here?"
"No time for explanations now," she answered quickly. "We must get out of here."
He recalled the patter of hastening feet, the soft closing of the door. In the growing light he saw its tin-sheeted face flush with the wall.
"The door has been shut," he said. "I'm afraid—locked. Why did you light that fire?"
She ran across, grasped the knob, then commenced
