The darkness into which he glared was pierced by a thin strip of very faint light. It widened until it became an oblong the size and shape of a door. Across it two figures stepped and darkness was again complete. But not for long. A beam of yellow light flashed out. Evidently that of an electric torch. It advanced and came to rest upon the Archdeacon. Then a woman's voice spoke. In it the Archdeacon with a feeling of absolute consternation, recognised the voice of his daughter Chloë.
"Good morning, Venerable," she said. "How goes it?"
The Archdeacon said no word. His mouth was too full for speech.
"Bish," said Chloë. "Take the gag out, will you? But first let me tell you, father, that you'll do yourself no good by giving tongue. No one can hear you, or
