1.

With a little gesture of despair, Quest turned away from the instrument which seemed suddenly to have become so terribly unresponsive, and looked across the vista of square roofs and tangled masses of telephone wires to where the lights of larger New York flared up against the sky.  From his attic chamber, the roar of the City a few blocks away was always in his ears.  He had forgotten in those hours of frenzied solitude to fear for his own safety.  He thought only of Lenora.  Under which one of those thousands of roofs was she being concealed?  What was the reason for this continued silence?  Perhaps they had taken her instrument away—­perhaps she was being ill-used.  The bare thought opened the door to a thousand grim and torturing surmises.  He paced restlessly up and down the room.  Inaction had never seemed to him so wearisome.  From sheer craving to be doing something, he paused once more before the little instrument.

“Lenora, where are you?” he signalled.  “I have taken a lodging in the Servants’ Club.  I am still in hiding, hoping that Craig may come here.  I am very anxious about you.”

Still no reply!  Quest drew a chair up to the window and sat there with folded arms looking down into the street.  Suddenly he sprang to his feet.  The instrument quivered—­there was a message at last!  He took it down with a little choke of relief.

“I don’t know where I am.  I am terrified.  I was outside the garage when I was seized from behind.  The Hands held me.  I was unconscious until I found myself here.  I am now in an attic room with no window except the skylight, which I cannot reach.  I can see nothing—­hear nothing.  No one has hurt me, no one comes near.  Food is pushed through a door, which is locked again immediately.  The house seems empty, yet I fancy that I am being watched all the time.  I am terrified!”

Quest drew the instrument towards him.

“I have your message,” he signalled.  “Be brave!  I am watching for Craig.  Through him I shall reach you before long.  Send me a message every now and then.”

Then there was a silence.

Quest was conscious of an enormous feeling of relief and yet an almost maddening sense of helplessness.  She was imprisoned by the Hands.  She was in their power, and up till now they had shown themselves ruthless enough.  A room with a roof window only!  How could she define her whereabouts!  His first impulse was to rush madly out into the street and search for her.  Then his common sense intervened.  His one hope was through Craig.  Again he took up his vigil in front of the window.  Once more his eyes swept the narrow street with its constant stream of passers-by.  Each time a man stopped and entered the building, he leaned a little further forward, and at each disappointment he seemed to realise a little more completely the slenderness of the chance upon which he was staking so much.  Then suddenly he found himself gripping the window-sill in a momentary thrill of rare excitement.  His vigil was rewarded at last.  The man for whom he was waiting was there!  Quest watched him cross the street, glance furtively to the right and to the left, then enter the club.  He turned back to the little wireless and his fingers worked as though inspired.