cked up its companions, one by one, examining each. And
each was warm, and the heart of each was beating. The sparrows were not
dead--but they were drugged--and they were very fast asleep.

Neale now began to develop theories. If a mere tiny crumb of that loaf
could put a sparrow, a remarkably vigorous and physically strong little
bird--to sleep within a minute or two, what effect would, say, a good
thick slice of it produce upon a human being? Anyway, the probability
was that the captive in that room was lying in a heavily drugged
condition, and that that was the reason of his silence. He would
wake--and surely some sound, however faint, would come. He himself would
wait--listening. The morning wore on--he waited, watched, listened. None
came--nothing had happened. He ate more of his chocolate. He read the
book on explosives. It interested him deeply--so deeply that in spite of
his anxiety, his hunger, his uncertainty as to what might happen, sooner
or later, he became absorbed in it. And once more he was called from its
pages by the sparrows.

The sparrows were coming to life. After lying stupefied for some four or
five hours they were showing signs of animation. One by one they were
moving, staggering to their feet, beginning to chirp. And as he watched
them, first one and then the other got the use of its wings; and,
finally, with one consent, they flew off to the open window--to
disappear.

Thereafter, Neale listened more keenly than ever for any sound from that
mysterious room. But no sound came. The afternoon passed wearily away;
the light began to fail, and at last he had to confess to himself that
the waiting, the being always on the alert, the enforced seclusion and
detention, the desire for proper food and drink--especially the
latter--was becoming too much for him, and that his nerves were
beginning to suffer. Was Joseph Chestermarke never coming? Had he gone
off somewhere?--possibly leaving a dead man behind, whose body was only
a few yards away. There was no spark of comfort visible save one. Old
Rob Walford would be home late that night from Wymington--sooner or
later he would hear of Neale's disappearance and he would sharpen his
naturally acute wits and come to the right conclusion. Yet--that might
be as far off as tomorrow.

As the darkness came, Neale, now getting desperate for want of food, was
suddenly startled by two sounds which, coming abruptly at almost the
same time, made him literally jump