Harry was in his shirtsleeves, which were rolled up, revealing his thin but sinewy arms. He had managed to get the claw of the crowbar between two of the stones, and was working at them gradually, talking the while to himself in an undertone. Her anxiety increased. The paroxysm, when it came, would be short, but what would be the end of it? Her mouth went dry and she felt for the knife she had put in her pocket, and stealthily opening the blade, thrust it through the lining to keep it in place.

Presently Harry paused, wiped the perspiration from his forehead with his arm and looked down at her. His horn-rimmed spectacles had slipped down his nose and he stopped to adjust them.

“Dick has no intention whatever of rescuing us. I think that you ought to know that.”

“I’m sure you’re mistaken, Harry,” she said.

But opposition only made him worse and he snapped down at her: “You’re a fool! All women are fools! I tell you it is a plot. Dick has no more intention of rescuing us–”

He stopped suddenly and passed his hand across his eyes.

“I wish I had brought the picture,” he muttered, and glared at her. “But for you I should have taken it with me, and now I’ve left it behind for that swine to jeer at!”

She looked up at the roof.

“You’re doing splendidly, Harry,” and, his attention distracted, he attacked the roof again.

“You can trust me, Leslie,” he said. “I am the only person in the world you can trust. You have no enemies. The Black Abbot is dead! I killed him, and I am very proud of the fact. Every Chelford should kill at least one Black Abbot, and I have had the approval of my illustrious ancestor.”

By this time the claw of the crowbar had been worked deep into the crevice he had made, and he began to lever slowly. As she watched him she saw the stone move. It dropped suddenly an eighth of an inch, and he raised an excited shout.

“You see, you see!” he said, in his shrill voice. “Dick never dreamt I would be able to do that, or he would not have allowed me to use this crowbar.”

He got down from the stone, scooped up two handfuls of water from the worn channel and drank, dashing the remainder of the water into his face before he leapt again on the stone and went to work with renewed vigour. Backward and forward he levered the crowbar, and again the stone dropped, until it was perceptibly out of place.

“You must be careful Harry,” she warned him. “That may come down with a rush and hurt you.”