"I have something important to say."

Hipps shook Richard by the shoulder.

"How's that memory?" he enquired.

Once again the last reserves were pushed into the line.

"Bad," said Richard. "Damn bad."

"Then I guess that ends the play," said the American.

"I want you," said Auriole. "Please."

They went out of the room together.

CHAPTER 31.

A WAY OUT.

When Auriole slipped quietly into the room five minutes later she found
Richard asleep on the camp bed with Blayney's kit bag tucked under his
head.

Below stairs there existed a state of turmoil. She had exploded her
bombshell as to Richard's false identity secure in the belief that it
would result in his immediate liberation.

"But Hell! what are you thinking off?" Hipps had roared. "D'you
imagine we can pass him out after what's happened? So long as the
fellar's above ground we ain't safe."

"You can't mean----" she had cried.

"We're busy. Keep out of the path, kid."

She had left them rattling instructions through the telephone to a
person called Phillips. The need of the moment from their point of
view was to waylay the returning Barraclough.

Van Diest was shouting for his car and from the jargon of voices,
Auriole learnt their intention of making an immediate descent upon the
rival camp to demand terms. In the midst of the chaos Auriole slipped
away, snatched up a bottle of champagne and some biscuits from the
dining table and ran up the stairs to Richard's room.

Parker, who was at the door, shot the bolt after she entered and in so
doing destroyed a foolish hope that she might succeed in getting
Richard out of the house while the excitement relaxed observation. Her
two seater car was under the trees at the end of the road and if they
could reach it----

She seized Richard's arm and stifled the cry he gave with her other
hand.

"Hush, hush, for pity's sake," she implored. "Here's some
champagne--drink it. No, no, it isn't poison--drink--drink," and she
filled a glass that stood upon the table. "Eat these biscuits too, and
listen to me."

Of course he did not understand. He drank the champagne and ate the
biscuits wolfishly while she talked. It was clear something had
happened--some unlooked for reversal of feeling--but beside the food
and drink nothing seemed to matter. The good wine felt like new life
blood flowing through his veins.

"They're downstairs now," she said. "Making up their minds."

He found in