"What's got hold of you, Lenora?" Quest asked her once. "You seem all
fidgets."

She glanced at him apologetically.

"I can't help it," she confessed. "If you knew of the many sleepless
nights I have had, of how I have racked my brain wondering what could have
become of James, you wouldn't really wonder that I am excited now that
there is some chance of really finding out. Often I have been too
terrified to sleep."

"We very likely shan't find out a thing," Quest reminded her. "French and
his lot have had a try and come to grief."

"Inspector French isn't like you, Mr. Quest," Lenora ventured.

Quest laughed bitterly.

"Just now, at any rate, we don't seem to be any great shakes," he
remarked. "However, I'm glad we're on this job. Much better to find out
what has become of the fellow really, if we can."

Lenora's voice suddenly grew steady. She turned round in her place and
faced her companion.

"Mr. Quest," she said, "I like my work with you. You saved me from
despair. Sometimes it seems to me that life now opens out an entirely new
vista. Yet since this matter has been mentioned between us, let me tell
you one thing. I have known no rest, night or day, since we heard of--of
James's escape. I live in terror. If I have concealed it, it has been at