that I can remain a prisoner here like this. The thing
is a daring outrage in the middle of London; it sounds more like a page
from a romance than anything else. At all risks, even to the brother by
whom you are standing so nobly, you must do this thing for me. After you
have seen Miss Darryll you are to go down to Scotland Yard and ask for
an interview with Inspector Field. Tell him where I am to be found
and----"

"Oh, I cannot, Philip, dearest," came the trembling whisper. "My own
brother----"

"Who has been the curse of your life and mine," Berrington said sternly.
"What do you suppose you gain by standing by him in this fashion? Sooner
or later he must come within grip of the law, and so all your
sufferings will be futile. If there was anything to gain by this
self-sacrifice I would say nothing. But to spoil your life for a
scoundrel like that----"

"Don't say it, Phil," Mary's voice pleaded. "Please don't say it. If you
love me as you once seemed to do, have a little patience."

All the anger melted out of Berrington's heart. He had intended to be
hard and stern, but that gentle, pleading voice softened him at once.
Knowing Mary as he did, he could imagine what her life had been these
last three years. Her sense of duty was a mistaken one, perhaps, but it
was nobly carried out, all the same. Sooner or later the effort must be
lost, and it occurred to Berrington that it would be cruel to hurry the
end. Besides, there would be a greater satisfaction to him to feel that
he had beaten Sartoris at his own game.

"I love you now as I loved you in the happy years gone by," he said.
"Indeed, I love you more, for I know how you have suffered, dearest.
Mind you, I am not afraid. I do not regard myself as being in any great
danger here--that is not the point. So I will write the letter and you
shall deliver it when you please. What is that?"

There was a sudden commotion at the far end of the speaking tube, and
something like the sound of wheels. Berrington bent his head eagerly to
listen.

"Is there anybody there?" he asked.

"My brother is coming back," Mary said in a voice so faint that
Berrington could hardly catch the words. "I must fly. If he knows that I
have been here he will have his suspicions. I will speak to you again
as soon as possible."

The whistle was clapped to, and the conversation ended. There was
nothing for it now but patience. Berrington took the pen and began to
write the letter. He wonde