n dinner, to answer no call save the
call of his conscience, to see--he checked himself.

"What are you in for?" he asked in self-defence.

"Conspiracy and fraud," said the other cheerfully. "I was put away by
a woman after three of us had got clear with 12,000 pounds. Damn rough
luck, wasn't it?"

John nodded.

It was curious, he thought, how sympathetic one grows with these
exponents of crimes. One naturally adopts their point of view and sees
life through their distorted vision.

"I bet I'm not given away with the next lot," the prisoner went on.
"I've got one of the biggest ideas I've ever had, and I've got a real
good man to help me."

"How?" asked John, in surprise.

The man jerked his head in the direction of the prison.

"Larry Green," he said briefly. "He's coming out next month, too, and we
are all fixed up proper. We are going to get the pile and then we're off
to South America, and you won't see us for dust."

Though he employed all the colloquialisms which were common, his tone
was that of a man of education, and yet there was something in his
address which told John as clearly as though the man had confessed as
much, that he had never occupied any social position in life.

The warder's step on the stones outside reduced them to silence.
Suddenly his voice came up the stairs.

"Forty-three," he called sharply, "I want you down here."

John took his paint pot and brush and went clattering down the
uncarpeted stairs.

"Where's the other man?" asked the warder, in a low voice.

"He's upstairs in the back room."

The warder stepped out of the door and looked left and right. Coming up
from Princetown was a big, grey car.

"Put down your paint pot," he said.

His voice was shaking with excitement.

"I am going upstairs. When that car comes abreast of the gate, ask no
questions and jump into it. Get down into the bottom and pull a sack
over you, and do not get up until the car stops."

The blood rushed to John Lexman's head, and he staggered.

"My God!" he whispered.

"Do as I tell you," hissed the warder.

Like an automaton John put down his brushes, and walked slowly to the
gate. The grey car was crawling up the hill, and the face of the driver
was half enveloped in a big rubber mask. Through the two great goggles
John could see little to help him identify the man. As the machine came
up to the gate, he leapt into the tonneau and sank instantly to the
bottom. As he did so he felt the