"Water!" he muttered hoarsely. "Water!"
"With pleasure, my dear cousin!" said a familiar voice. "Water, food, and even, under restrictions, a little liberty. Has that programme attractions? Surely—after what, I fear, has been a monotonous night."
It was Landon who held a guttering lamp in his hand and looked down at them complacently—Landon, debonair, smiling, triumphant.
Aylmer's eyes searched past him after the first glance of surprise. Touching his feet lay Miss Van Arlen, bound as he had been bound, the mark of the gag still grooving her lips and cheek. Beyond her, propped against a bulkhead at the end of the narrow oblong lazaret in which they all lay, was another figure. Aylmer blinked and frowned in his surprise. The face was unfamiliarly pale; the usually apathetic eyes dark with repressed emotion. But they both undoubtedly belonged to—Mr. Miller.
This, then, was the meaning of the opening of their prison door for the second time the previous evening; this was the addition to their cargo which darkness had concealed from him.
Landon gave a pleasant little laugh.
"An unexpected reunion, is it not?" he suggested. "I have unavoidably deprived you of a few luxuries, my dear Miller, but have supplied what is far more important—true friends."
For a moment the other was silent; his glance reviewed his surroundings with careful intensity; he seemed to prime himself with all available information before he dealt with a situation which found him moved, indeed, but not by useless loss of temper.
"You will probably pay for this—highly," he said in his usual level tones. "I do not know precisely what you expect to gain, my dear Landon, but believe me the price of this exploit will be more than you can afford."
Landon made a gesture of protest.