called out.

The door opened, and the girl, Sonia, entered the room. She was
carrying a tray, which she set down on the top of the chest of
drawers.

"I don't know the least how to thank you for all this," I said.

She turned round and looked at me curiously from under her dark
eyebrows.

"For all what?" she asked.

"This," I repeated, waving my hand towards the tray, "and the hot bath
last night, and incidentally my life. If it hadn't been for you and
Dr. McMurtrie I think my 'career,' as the _Daily Mail_ calls it, would
be pretty well finished by now."

She stood where she was, her hand on her hip, her eyes fixed on my
face.

"Do you know why we are helping you?" she asked.

I shook my head. "I haven't the faintest notion," I answered frankly.
"It certainly can't be on account of the charm of my appearance. I've
just been looking at myself in the glass."

She shrugged her shoulders half impatiently. "What does a man's
appearance matter? You can't expect to break out of Dartmoor in a
frock-coat."

"No," I replied gravely; "there must always be a certain lack of
dignity about such a proceeding. Still, when one looks like--well,
like an escaped murderer, it's all the more surprising that one should
be so hospitably received."

She picked up the tray again, and brought it to my bedside.

"Oh!" she said; "I shouldn't build too much upon our hospitality if I
were you."

I took the tray from her hands. "I would build upon yours to any
extent," I said; "but I am under no illusion whatever about Dr.
McMurtrie's disinterestedness. He and your father--it is your father,
isn't it?--are coming up to explain matters as soon as I have had
something to eat."

She stood silent for a moment, her brows knitted in a frown.

"They mean you no harm," she said at last, "as long as you will do
what they want." Then she paused. "Did you murder that man Marks?" she
asked abruptly.

I swallowed down my first mouthful of fish. "No," I said; "I only
knocked him about a bit. He wasn't worth murdering."

She stared at me as if she was trying to read my thoughts.

"Is that true?" she said.

"Well," I replied, "he was alive enough when I left him, judging from
his language."

"Then why did your partner--Mr. Marwood--why did he say that you had
done it?"

"That," I said softly, "is a little question which George and I have
got to discuss together some day."

She walked to the door and then turned.

"If a man I had tr