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“They are lying on the floor upstairs,” said Rupert, chuckling. “Tied hand and foot.”

“Well, that settles it,” said the old lady, coming with a kind of bang into her seat again, “I must stop where I am.”

Rupert looked bewildered.

“Stop where you are?” he said. “Why should you stop any longer where you are? What power can force you now to stop in this miserable cell?”

“The question rather is,” said the old lady, with composure, “what power can force me to go anywhere else?”

We both stared wildly at her and she stared tranquilly at us both.

At last I said, “Do you really mean to say that we are to leave you here?”

“I suppose you don’t intend to tie me up,” she said, “and carry me off? I certainly shall not go otherwise.”

“But, my dear madam,” cried out Rupert, in a radiant exasperation, “we heard you with our own ears crying because you could not get out.”

“Eavesdroppers often hear rather misleading things,” replied the captive grimly. “I suppose I did break down a bit and lose my temper and talk to myself. But I have some sense of honour for all that.”

“Some sense of honour?” repeated Rupert, and the last light of intelligence died out of his face, leaving it the face of an idiot with rolling eyes.

He moved vaguely towards the door and I followed. But I turned yet once more in the toils of my conscience and curiosity. “Can we do nothing for you, madam?” I said forlornly.

“Why,” said the lady, “if you are particularly anxious to do me a little favour you might untie the gentlemen upstairs.”

Rupert plunged heavily up the kitchen staircase, shaking it with his vague violence. With mouth open to speak he stumbled to the door of the sitting-room and scene of battle.

“Theoretically speaking, that is no doubt true,” Mr Burrows was saying, lying on his back and arguing easily with Basil; “but we must consider the matter as it appears to our sense. The origin of morality…”

“Basil,” cried Rupert, gasping, “she won’t come out.”

“Who won’t come out?” asked Basil, a little cross at being interrupted in an argument.

“The lady downstairs,” replied Rupert. “The lady who was locked up. She won’t come out. And she says that all she wants is for us to let these fellows loose.”

“And a jolly sensible suggestion,” cried Basil, and with a bound he was on top of the prostrate Burrows once more and was unknotting his bonds with hands and teeth.

“A brilliant idea. Swinburne, just undo Mr Greenwood.”

In a dazed and automatic way I released the little gentleman in the purple jacket, who did not seem to regard any of the proceedings as particularly sensible or brilliant. The gigantic Burrows, on the other hand, was heaving with herculean laughter.

“Well,” said Basil, in his cheeriest way, “I think we must be getting away. We’ve so much enjoyed our evening. Far too much regard for you to stand on ceremony. If I may so express myself, we’ve made ourselves at home. Good night. Thanks so much. Come along, Rupert.”

“Basil,” said Rupert desperately, “for God’s sake come and see what you can make of the woman downstairs. I can’t get the discomfort out of my mind. I admit that things look as if we had made a mistake. But these gentlemen won’t mind perhaps…”

“No, no,” cried Burrows, with a sort of Rabelaisian uproariousness. “No, no, look in the pantry, gentlemen. Examine the coal-hole. Make a tour of the chimneys. There are corpses all over the house, I assure you.”

This adventure of ours was destined to differ in one respect from others which I have narrated. I had been through many wild days with Basil Grant, days for the first half of which the sun and the moon seemed to have gone mad. But it had almost invariably happened that towards the end of the day and its adventure things had cleared themselves like the sky after rain, and a luminous and quiet meaning had gradually dawned upon me. But this day’s work was destined to end in confusion worse confounded. Before we left that house, ten minutes afterwards, one half-witted touch was added which rolled all our minds in cloud. If Rupert’s head had suddenly fallen off on the floor, if wings had begun to sprout out of Greenwood’s shoulders, we could scarcely have been more suddenly stricken. And yet of this we had no explanation. We had to go to bed that night with the prodigy and get up next morning with it and let it stand in our memories for weeks and months. As will be seen, it was not until months afterwards that by another accident and in another way it was explained. For the present I only state what happened.