"He's a fine fellow. He's only been working on the grounds, had nothing to do with inside the house, but he didn't love the Crispins any better than I did, and he had lost his heart to Hesther. She spoke to him once or twice, and he would do anything for her. I sent letters to her through him: she replied to me in the same way, but they were all to the same effect, that I was to go away quickly lest Crispin should do something to me, that she wasn't being badly treated and that there was nothing to be done.
"Then, about a week ago, Crispin saw me. It was in one of the Treliss lanes, and we met face to face. He just gave me one look and passed on, but since then I've had to be terribly careful. All the same I've made my plans. All that was needed was her consent to them, and that, until to-night, she has steadily refused to give. However, something worse than usual has broken her down. What he has been doing to her I don't know, I dare not think—but to-night I've got to get her out. I've got to, or never show my face anywhere again. Now I've told you this as quickly as I could. Will you help me?"
Harkness stood up holding out his hand: "Yes," he said, "I will."
"It can be beastly, you know."
"That's all right."
"You don't mind what happens?"
"I don't mind what happens."
"Sportsman."
The two men shook hands. They sat down again. Dunbar spread out a paper on the little green-topped table.
"This is a rough plan of the house," he said. "I can't draw, but I think you can make this out.