without any prospect of escape. He could nowhere find an avenue. So far
as he could judge, he was absolutely caught like a rat in a trap.

He half smiled to himself; he was still too dazed to grasp the
significance of his position, when a light suddenly appeared overhead, at
the top of a flight of stairs, and a hoarse voice demanded to know who
was there. In the same dreamy kind of way, Gurdon was just conscious of
the fact that a strong pair of arms lifted him from the floor, and that
he was being carried up the steps. In the same dreamy fashion, he was
cognisant of light and warmth, a luxurious atmosphere, and rows upon
rows of beautiful flowers everywhere. He would, no doubt, awake
presently, and find that the whole thing was a dream. Meanwhile, there
was nothing visionary about the glass of brandy which somebody had put to
his lips, or about the hands which were brushing him down and removing
all traces of his recent adventure.

"When you feel quite up to it, sir," a quiet, respectful voice said, "my
master would like to see you. He is naturally curious enough to know what
you were doing in the garden."

"I am afraid your master must have his own way," Gurdon said grimly. "I
am feeling pretty well now, thanks to the brandy. If you will take me to
your master, I will try to explain matters."

The servant led the way into a large, handsome apartment, where a man in
evening dress was seated in a big armchair before the fire. He looked
round with a peculiar smile as Gurdon came in.

"Well, sir," he said. "And what does this mean?"