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“Go to your brother,” he said, “and ask him to come and speak to me!”

The authority in his voice was not to be gainsaid. She threw an imploring look at Hyde, and went. She fled like a wild creature along the veranda to her brother’s room, and tapped feverishly, frantically at the window. Then she paused listening intently for a reply. But she could hear nothing save the loud beating of her heart. It drummed in her ears like the hoofs of a galloping horse. Desperately she knocked again.

“Let me in!” she gasped. “Let me in!”

There came a blundering movement, and the door opened.

“Hullo!” said Ronnie, in a voice of sleepy irritation. “What’s up?”

She stumbled into the dark room, breathless and sobbing.

“Oh, Ronnie!” she cried. “Oh, Ronnie; you must help me now!”

He fastened the door behind her, and as she sank down half-fainting in a chair, she heard him groping for matches on the dressing-table.

He struck one, and lighted a lamp. She saw that his hand was very shaky, but that he managed to control it. His face was pale, and there were deep shadows under his heavy eyes, but he was himself again, and a thrill of thankfulness ran through her. There was still a chance, still a chance!

XII

THE PENALTY

Five minutes later, or it might have been less, the brother and sister stepped out on to the veranda to go to the drawing-room. They had to turn a corner of the bungalow to reach it, and the moment they did so Hope stopped dead. A man’s voice, shouting curses, came from the open window; and, with it, the sound of struggling and the sound of blows–blows delivered with the precision and regularity of a machine–frightful, swinging blows that sounded like revolver shots.

“What is it?” gasped Hope in terror. “What is it?” But she knew very well what it was; and Ronnie knew, too.

“You stay here,” he said. “I’ll go and stop it.”

“No, no!” she gasped back. “I am coming with you; I must.” She slipped her cold hand into his, and they ran together towards the commotion.

Reaching the drawing-room window, Ronnie stopped, and put the trembling girl behind him. But he himself did not enter. He only stood still, with a cowed look on his face, and waited. In the middle of the room, Baring, his face set and terrible, stood gripping Hyde by the torn collar of his coat and thrashing him, deliberately, mercilessly, with his own riding-whip. How long the punishment had gone on the two at the window could only guess. But it was evident that Hyde was nearing exhaustion. His face was purple in patches, and the curses he tried to utter came maimed and broken and incoherent from his shaking lips. He had almost ceased to struggle in the unwavering grip that held him; he only moved convulsively at each succeeding blow.

“Oh, stop him!” implored Hope, behind her brother. “Stop him!” Then, as he did not move, she pushed wildly past him into the room.

Baring saw her, and instantly, almost as if he had been awaiting her, stayed his hand. He did not speak. He simply took Hyde by the shoulders and half-carried, half-propelled him to the window, through which he thrust him.

He returned empty-handed and closed the window. Ronnie had entered, and was standing by his sister, who had dropped upon her knees by the sofa and hidden her face in the cushions, sobbing with a pasionate abandonment that testified to nerves that had given way utterly at last beneath a strain too severe to be borne. Baring just glanced at her, then turned his attention to her brother.

“I have been doing your work for you,” he remarked grimly. “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” He put his hand upon Ronnie, and twisted him round to face the light, looking at him piercingly. “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” he repeated.