"Do not move or speak," he said, "but try and pull yourself together sufficiently to sign this paper."
"What is the document?"
"It is something without which I can take no sort of action. My instructions are to do nothing until you have signed it. You need not be afraid; it will not hurt you. Come, sir, there is no time to be wasted. If these rascals are to be got out of England our scheme must be carried out to-night."
"To do that I will sign anything. I trust your honor for its contents. Give me pen and ink."
His daughter supported him in her arms, while Carne dipped a pen in the bottle of ink he had brought with him and placed it in the tremulous fingers. Then, the paper being supported on a book, the old man laboriously traced his signature at the place indicated. When he had done so he fell back upon the pillow completely exhausted.
Carne blotted it carefully, then folded the paper up, placed it in his pocket and announced himself ready for the work. The clock upon the mantlepiece showed him that it was a quarter to eleven, so that if he intended to act that night he knew he must do so quickly. Bidding the invalid rest happy in the knowledge that his safety was assured, he beckoned the daughter to him.
"Go downstairs," he said in a whisper, "and make sure that the men are still in the dining room."
She did as he ordered her, and in a few moments returned with the information that they had finished their supper and had announced their intention of going to bed.
"In that case we must hurry," said Carne. "Where are my men concealed?"
"In the room at the end of that passage," was the girl's reply.