'The Messengers should be waiting for you in Ryder Street.'
At last Kelly knew the worst. He would be taken before he reached his doorstep. There would be no chance of saving the cyphers in his strong box. Could he save Smilinda's letters?
He bent his forehead upon his hands, thinking. Smilinda watched him; her lips moved as though she was praying.
'I might be carried to your lodgings and claim what is mine,' she suggested.
'You would be carried to a trap--a souricière. Ten to one you would be arrested by the Messengers. At all events your visit would be remarked upon, and you would not obtain the letters.'
Lady Oxford had no other proposal at hand, and there was silence in the room. Mr. Kelly remained with his face buried in his hands; he took the air in long deep breaths. No other sound was audible except the faint ticking of the clock in the outer withdrawing-room. For Smilinda was holding her breath lest she should disturb the man whom she had betrayed, and who was now wholly occupied with the attempt to save her. Then she remarked that the sound of his breathing ceased. She bent forwards; he raised his face to hers. He did not seem to see her; his eyes kindled with hope.
'You have found a way?' she whispered; and he whispered back:
'A desperate chance, but it may serve.' He started to his feet. 'It must serve.'
A smile brightened over his face.
'It will serve.'