realize the uselessness of revolt.

"All right, then," he replied finally, turning to the door. "Suit
yourself, only watch your step. Anyhow, I'll be within calling distance,
if this guy gets gay."

"Don't worry about that," a flash of anger in her eyes. "I am no baby,
Jim Hobart. Go on now, and leave Captain West to me."

He closed the door behind him, and the two were alone in the room. No
sound reached them from without, not even an echo of Hobart's footsteps
in the hall. West looked across at the girl, who sat motionless, her eyes
shaded by long lashes, and ringless fingers clasped in her lap. She
appeared indifferent, uninterested, scarcely aware of his presence. He
wondered if Hobart was listening at the door; what had become of Mike,
and whether Sexton was alive or dead. For the moment he could scarcely
make himself realize the true situation. His silence served to arouse her
interest, for she suddenly lifted her head and looked at him.

"Well," she said soberly. "You have something to ask?"

"Much--yes; but first, are we alone?"

"Certainly--why?"

"This man Hobart, you are sure he is not listening at the door?"

She glanced about; then laughed.

"Little good that would do him; there is no key-hole, no chance for sound