"I want you to do something for me now. Will you?" She nodded again.

"Are you sure you understand?" said the voice anxiously.

"I quite understand," she replied.

She could have almost smiled at his consideration.

"I am taking you to your home, and to-morrow your friends will know that you have returned. But you're not to tell them about the house where they have kept you. You must not tell them about Silva or anybody that was in that house. Do you understand?"

"But why?" she began, and he laughed softly.

"I am not trying to shield them," he said, answering her unspoken thought, "but if you give information you can only tell a little, and the police can only discover a little, and the men can only be punished a little. And there's so much that they deserve, so many lives they have ruined, so much sorrow they have caused, that it would be a hideous injustice if they were only punished--a little. Will you leave them to me?"

She struggled to an erect position and stared at him.

"I know you," she whispered fearlessly; "you are Jack o' Judgment."

"Jack o' Judgment!" he laughed a little bitterly. "Yes, I am Jack o'

Judgment."

"Who are you?" she asked.

"A living lie," he replied bitterly, "a masquerader, a mummer, a n.o.body."

She did not know what impelled her to do the thing, but she put out her hand and laid it on his. She felt the silky smoothness of the glove and then his other hand covered hers.

"Thank you," he said simply. "Do you think you can walk? We are just turning into Doughty Street. We've pa.s.sed the policeman on his beat; he is going the other way. Can you walk upstairs by yourself?"

"I--I'll try," she said, but when he a.s.sisted her from the car she nearly fell, and he half carried, half supported her into her room.

He stood hesitating near the door.

"I shall be all right," she smiled. "How quickly you understand my thoughts!"

"Wouldn't it be well if I sent somebody to you--a nurse? Have you the key I gave you?"

"How did you get it?" she asked suddenly, and he laughed again.

"Jack o' Judgment," he mocked, "wise old Jack o' Judgment! He has everything and nothing! Suppose I send a nurse to you, a nice nurse. I could send the key to her by messenger. Would you like that?"

She looked doubtful.

"I think I would," she said with a weak smile. "I am not quite sure of myself."

He did not take off the soft felt hat which was drawn tightly over his ears, nor did he remove his mask or cloak. She was making up her mind to take a closer stock of him, when unexpectedly he backed towards the door, and with a little nod was gone. He had left her on the couch, and there she was, half dozing and half drugged when the matronly nurse from St. George's Inst.i.tute arrived half an hour later.

Stafford called in the afternoon and was surprised and delighted to learn that he could speak to the girl. He found her looking better and more cheerful. He bent over and kissed her cheek, and her hand sought his.

"Now, I'm going to be awfully official," he laughed, "I want you to tell me all sorts of things. The chief is very anxious that we should lose no time in getting your story."

She shook her head.

"There's no story to tell, Stafford," she said.

"No story to tell?" he said incredulously. "But weren't you abducted?"

She nodded.

"There's that much you know," she said; "I was abducted and taken away.

I have been detained and I think drugged."

"No harm has come to you?" he asked anxiously.

Again she shook her head.

"But where did they take you? Who was it? Who were the people?"

"I can't tell you," she said.

"You don't know?"

She hesitated.

"Yes, I think I know, but I can't tell you."

"But why?" he asked in astonishment.

"Because the man who rescued me begged me not to tell, and, Stafford, you don't know what he saved me from."

"He--he--who was it?" asked Stafford.

"The man called Jack o' Judgment," said the girl slowly, and Stafford jumped up with a cry.

"Jack o' Judgment!" he said. "I ought to have guessed! Did you see his face?" he demanded eagerly.

She shook her head again.

"Did he give you any clue as to his ident.i.ty?"

"None whatever," she replied with a little gleam of amus.e.m.e.nt in her eyes. "What a detective you are, Stafford! And I thought you were coming down here to tell me"--the colour went to her cheeks--"well, to tell me the news," she added hastily. "Is there any news?"

"None, except----"

Then he remembered that she knew nothing whatever of her father's death and its tragic sequel, and this was not the moment to tell her. Later, when she was stronger, perhaps.

She was watching him with trouble in her eyes. She had noted how quickly he had stopped and guessed that there was something to be told which he was withholding for fear of hurting her. Her father was uppermost in her mind and it was natural that she should think of him.

"Is there any news of my father?" she asked quietly.

"None," he lied.