Allingham handed her the slip of washed-out paper that still lay on his desk.
"That floated in here this afternoon," he said. "It's the first clue we've had."
"We've been searching this neighborhood tonight," added Bailey. "We'd have got you tomorrow, sure."
"Then I wish I'd waited," said Gertrude. "Look at my hands." She held them, palms out. They were all red and swollen. Allingham had an insane desire to snatch and kiss them, but Bailey regarded them coolly enough.
"Rough on you, Gert. How did that happen?" he asked.
"Well, after trying every means we could think of to get some word to the outside world, we decided to make our escape somehow. We tore up the sheets and blankets and twisted them into a strong cable. This we fastened securely to the kitchen pipes, and with our nail-files we managed to saw away the copper netting that had been nailed across the window frames, and then to pry up the lower sash. We had planned to come down, both of us, on this, last night; but Mary was taken ill yesterday, and I wouldn't come without her. Today she seemed worse instead of better, and I came down for help."
"You came down that rope—yourself?" said Allingham.
"Yes—like any convict, escaping from state's prison," answered Gertrude. "Of course I had no idea where I should land, nor into what hands I might fall. I was sure we were watched, but believed only from the front door—"
"Go on," said Bailey, impatiently. "Did you leave Mary alone in that flat?"
"Of course," answered Gertrude. "What else was there to do? But instead of landing in the enemy's camp, I found myself in the hands of a good Samaritan." She smiled at Allingham, and his heart sang foolishly. "When my feet struck bottom I found myself where I expected to be—at the bottom of the light-well. I looked around me for some way of escape, and saw an open window. I came through it—and here I am."