"No, no, thank you. Prefer a Spartan diet. Gla.s.s of water and a piece of bread."

"Bread? Yes. I hope the baker remembered to call. Be awkward if---- Well, come along, Chief, no good letting things get cold."

They pa.s.sed out of the room and the bolt slammed home.

With a crazy impulse Richard staggered across the floor, seized the door handle and shook it violently. One of those violent paroxysms of hunger suddenly possessed him which while they endure are acute agony.

The longing for food gripped at his vitals like an eagle's claw and drove reasoned action from his head. He knew well enough that there was no escape to be made through the shuttered windows but ignoring the knowledge he leapt toward them and seized the iron cross-bar. As he lifted it from its slot the alarm bell above the frame rang out a fiery summons.

He fell back a pace beating the air impotently and whining. The door opened and Blayney and Parker, the two men servants, entered. Parker placed a tray on the table, then returned to stand in the open doorway.

Blayney, ignoring Richard's presence, replaced the shutter bar in its old position and the bell stopped ringing. Then he turned and said:

"I shouldn't advise you, to try the window, sir. There's a strong electric current pa.s.ses through the catch."

"Thank you," said Richard and slouched despondently toward the table where his glance fell upon the tray. Whatever victuals had been provided were concealed beneath a small silver cover but there was a napkin, a knife and fork and a cruet. On the whole it looked rather promising. Then suddenly he noticed that the gla.s.s beside the plate contained barely an inch of water.

"I say," he exclaimed, "look! Can't I have a jog of water? There isn't----"

"Not today, sir," said Blayney.

The very courtesy of the man was an incentive to fury.

"Yes, but----"

"Not today, sir."

Parker in the doorway grinned.

"Don't smirk at me, blast you," said Richard.

Blayney nodded toward the bedroom and changed places with his companion. When Parker came out he was carrying a great pile of bedclothes.

"Here, what are you doing? Put 'em down. D'you hear me?"

"My orders were to take them away, sir."

As Laurence had said it was useless to fight against present odds.

Richard shut his teeth tight.

"Obey your orders," he said, but as the door was closing the craving for drink mastered his pride. "For G.o.d's sake," he cried, "for G.o.d's sake give me some more water. I'll give you twenty for a jug of water--honest I will--twenty----"

Blayney laid a finger to his lips and went out. The gesture might have meant anything. With trembling hand Richard seized the gla.s.s of water and drained it at a gulp. There was miserably little--it barely cooled the heat of his throat. Whimpering he set the gla.s.s down and lifted the cover from the plate. Underneath was a cube of bread the size of a lump of sugar. With a savage cry he picked it up and flung it across the room but a moment later was on all fours gathering up the broken bits and pieces and eating them wolfishly.

Blayney found him searching pathetically for the last crumb when he came stealthily into the room and put a tin mug on the table.

"I'll collect that twenty later," he said and vanished.

Almost like a miser Richard took the mug in his hands and purred over it possessively. With a sigh of absolute content he raised it to his lips. Then a scream broke from him--harsh, strident, savage. There were no soft spots in the walls of Hugo Van Diest's fortress. The water was salt.

CHAPTER 19.

AT THE CHESTNUTS.

Mrs. Barraclough was one of those old ladies who are constantly being surprised. She courted surprise. She never forestalled a climax and of the hundreds of sensational novels which she so greedily devoured never once was she guilty of taking a premature peep at the last chapter to ensure herself that right would triumph. "I shall find out all about it in good time" was the motto she affected. This being so she made no effort to secure Isabel's confidence but simply waited for Isabel to speak. The same reticence possessed her in the matter of the four mysterious serving girls. She hadn't the smallest idea why Anthony had suddenly transformed himself into a domestic agency although, at the back of her head, she guessed at a deep underlying motive. It gratified her beyond measure to be surrounded by unfathomed waters and frequently as a corollary to her prayers she would thank G.o.d for the little excitements and mysteries He sent to flavour her declining years.

After the uncontrollable rush of tears on her arrival Isabel pulled herself together and made a show of gaiety and preserved it n.o.bly for nearly three weeks. Anthony had gone and gloomy forebodings were of no service. Accordingly she helped Mrs. Barraclough in the garden and made the very best friends of the four girls. Perhaps she was the least bit resentful on finding out that they knew almost as much of Anthony's plans as she herself.

"But did he tell you?" she asked in surprise.

"It's like this," said Flora who generally spoke for the company.

"Jane and myself were with him in the Secret Service during the last year of the war."

"He got us the job," Jane interpolated. She was a big, bonny girl with broad shoulders, steady blue eyes and a complexion that would have advertised any health resort. "Cook kicks herself that she wasn't in that show."

It was at this point Mrs. Barraclough came into the room.

"Kicks herself! What a very unbecoming expression, Jane."

"Sorry, madam," said Jane and she and Flora sn.i.g.g.e.red uncontrollably.

"You girls perplex me greatly," said Mrs. Barraclough. "You do not laugh in the least like ordinary servants."

"How do ordinary servants laugh?" Jane asked.

"Generally speaking, in a high note that echoes distressingly throughout the house, whereas you laugh like young ladies."

"Oh, you old darling," exclaimed Flora with sudden impulsiveness. "I suppose if a decent education and upbringing counts for anything that's just what we are."

Mrs. Barraclough sat down rather abruptly on a small upright sofa in the centre of the room.

"Then for goodness sake tell me what you are doing in my kitchen."

There was no escaping the explanation especially when Isabel contributed:

"Come on, Flora, out with it."

"It's this way, madam. Lots of us went broke after the war--lots of us who'd only fifty quid a year to live on."

"Quid?" said Mrs. Barraclough. "Isn't that something to do with sailors and tobacco?"

"Pounds, then. We ran across Mr. Anthony out in France."

"Picked him out of a ditch near Arras with a bullet through his foot,"

Jane contributed.

"And after that got most awfully friendly and kept knocking up against each other."