sist him to escape, you are
subject to penalties--"

Sir Henry threw open the door.

"Captain Griffiths," he interrupted, "I am not ignorant of my position
in this matter. Believe me, your last chance of retaining your position
here is to remember that you have had specific orders to yield to my
authority in all matters. Kindly leave this room and take your soldiers
back to their quarters."

Griffiths hesitated for a single moment. He had the appearance of a man
half demented by a passion which could find no outlet. Then he left the
room, without salute, without a glance to the right or to the left. Out
in the hall, a moment later, they heard a harsh voice of command.
The hall door was opened and closed behind the sound of retreating
footsteps.

"Sir Henry," Lessingham reminded him, "I have not asked for your
intervention."

"My dear fellow, you wouldn't," was the prompt reply. "As for the little
trouble that has happened in the North Sea, don't take it too much to
heart, it was entirely the fault of the people who sent you here."

"The fault of the people who sent me here," Lessingham repeated. "I
scarcely understand."

"It's simple enough," Sir Henry continued. "You see, you are about as
fit to be a spy as Philippa, my wife here, is to be a detective. You
possess the one insuperable obstacle of having the instincts of a
gentleman.--Come, come," he went on, "we have nothing more to say to one
another. Open that window and take the narrow path down to the beach.
Jimmy Dumble is waiting for you at the gate. He will row you out to a
Dutch trawler which is lying even now off the point."

"You mean me to get away?" Lessingham exclaimed, bewildered.

"Believe me, it will cost nothing," Sir Henry assured him. "I was not
bluffing when I told Captain Griffiths that I had supreme authority
here. He knows perfectly well that I am within my rights in aiding your
escape."

Philippa moved swiftly to where Lessingham was standing. She gave him
her hands.

"Dear friend," she begged, "so wonderful a friend as you have been,
don't refuse this last thing."

"Be a sensible fellow, Maderstrom," Sir Henry said. "Remember that you
can't do yourself or your adopted country a ha'porth of good by playing
the Quixote."

"Besides," Philippa continued, holding his hands tightly, "it is, after
all, only an exchange. You have saved Henry's life, set Richard free,
and brought us happiness. Why should you hesitate to accept your own