"Brandon," said Parkington, stepping into the light, "you have, I fear, reached the end of your string."
"De Lysle!" exclaimed the wounded man. "May the Devil take me! What do you here—and under a false name? Did England get too warm for you?"
Parkington nodded. "Something of the sort; so I borrowed another's—a dead man's—for the time."
Brandon laughed, grimly. "Methinks your string is little longer than my own—though I wish you success with the game you are playing, whatever it is."
Parkington took a low stool, from the corner, and sat down.
"The immediate point is to lengthen your string," he said.
"You will help me to escape?" the other asked.
"Yes—I have not forgot the old days, Charles."
Brandon looked at him thoughtfully.