A Man stood in the speckless courtyard before the Governor's houseat Dartmoor gaol. He wore the ugly livery of shame which marksthe convict. His head was clipped short, and there was two days'

　　growth of beard upon his haggard face. Standing with his handsbehind him, he waited for the moment when he would be ordered tohis work.

　　John Lexman - A. O. 43 - looked up at the blue sky as he hadlooked so many times from the exercise yard, and wondered what theday would bring forth. A day to him was the beginning and the endof an eternity. He dare not let his mind dwell upon the longaching years ahead. He dare not think of the woman he left, orlet his mind dwell upon the agony which she was enduring. He haddisappeared from the world, the world he loved, and the world thatknew him, and all that there was in life; all that was worth whilehad been crushed and obliterated into the granite of thePrincetown quarries, and its wide horizon shrunken by the gauntmoorland with its menacing tors.

　　New interests made up his existence. The quality of the food wasone. The character of the book he would receive from the prisonlibrary another. The future meant Sunday chapel; the presentwhatever task they found him. For the day he was to paint somedoors and windows of an outlying cottage. A cottage occupied by awarder who, for some reason, on the day previous, had spoken tohim with a certain kindness and a certain respect which wasunusual.

　　"Face the wall," growled a voice, and mechanically he turned, hishands still behind him, and stood staring at the grey wall of theprison storehouse.

　　He heard the shuffling feet of the quarry gang, his ears caughtthe clink of the chains which bound them together. They weredesperate men, peculiarly interesting to him, and he had watchedtheir faces furtively in the early period of his imprisonment.

　　He had been sent to Dartmoor after spending three months inWormwood Scrubbs. Old hands had told him variously that he wasfortunate or unlucky. It was usual to have twelve months at theScrubbs before testing the life of a convict establishment. Hebelieved there was some talk of sending him to Parkhurst, and herehe traced the influence which T. X. would exercise, for Parkhurstwas a prisoner's paradise.

　　He heard his warder's voice behind him.

　　"Right turn, 43, quick march."He walked ahead of the armed guard, through the great and gloomygates of the prison, turned sharply to the right, and walked upthe village street toward the moors, beyond the village ofPrincetown, and on the Tavistock Road where were two or threecottages which had been lately taken by the prison staff; and itwas to the decoration of one of these that A. O. 43 had been sent.

　　The house was as yet without a tenant.

　　A paper-hanger under the charge of another warder was waiting forthe arrival of the painter. The two warders exchanged greetings,and the first went off leaving the other in charge of both men.

　　For an hour they worked in silence under the eyes of the guard.

　　Presently the warder went outside, and John Lexman had anopportunity of examining his fellow sufferer.

　　He was a man of twenty-four or twenty-five, lithe and alert. Byno means bad looking, he lacked that indefinable suggestion ofanimalism which distinguished the majority of the inhabitants atDartmoor.

　　They waited until they heard the warder's step clear the passage,and until his iron-shod boots were tramping over the cobbled pathwhich led from the door, through the tiny garden to the road,before the second man spoke.

　　"What are you in for?" he asked, in a low voice.

　　"Murder," said John Lexman, laconically.

　　He had answered the question before, and had noticed with a littleamusement the look of respect which came into the eyes of thequestioner.

　　"What have you got!""Fifteen years," said the other.

　　"That means 11 years and 9 months," said the first man. "You'venever been here before, I suppose?""Hardly," said Lexman, drily.

　　"I was here when I was a kid," confessed the paper-hanger. "I amgoing out next week."John Lexman looked at him enviously. Had the man told him that hehad inherited a great fortune and a greater title his envy wouldnot have been so genuine.

　　Going out!

　　The drive in the brake to the station, the ride to London increased, but comfortable clothing, free as the air, at liberty togo to bed and rise when he liked, to choose his own dinner, toanswer no call save the call of his conscience, to see - hechecked himself.

　　"What are you in for?" he asked in self-defence.

　　"Conspiracy and fraud," said the other cheerfully. "I was putaway by a woman after three of us had got clear with 12,000pounds. Damn rough luck, wasn't it?"John nodded.

　　It was curious, he thought, how sympathetic one grows with theseexponents of crimes. One naturally adopts their point of view andsees life through their distorted vision.

　　"I bet I'm not given away with the next lot," the prisoner wenton. "I've got one of the biggest ideas I've ever had, and I'vegot a real good man to help me.""How?" asked John, in surprise.

　　The man jerked his head in the direction of the prison.

　　"Larry Green," he said briefly. "He's coming out next month, too,and we are all fixed up proper. We are going to get the pile andthen we're off to South America, and you won't see us for dust."Though he employed all the colloquialisms which were common, histone was that of a man of education, and yet there was somethingin his address which told John as clearly as though the man hadconfessed as much, that he had never occupied any social positionin life.

　　The warder's step on the stones outside reduced them to silence.

　　Suddenly his voice came up the stairs.

　　"Forty-three," he called sharply, "I want you down here."John took his paint pot and brush and went clattering down theuncarpeted stairs.

　　"Where's the other man?" asked the warder, in a low voice.

　　"He's upstairs in the back room."The warder stepped out of the door and looked left and right.

　　Coming up from Princetown was a big, grey car.

　　"Put down your paint pot," he said.

　　His voice was shaking with excitement.

　　"I am going upstairs. When that car comes abreast of the gate,ask no questions and jump into it. Get down into the bottom andpull a sack over you, and do not get up until the car stops."The blood rushed to John Lexman's head, and he staggered.

　　"My God!" he whispered.

　　"Do as I tell you," hissed the warder.

　　Like an automaton John put down his brushes, and walked slowly tothe gate. The grey car was crawling up the hill, and the face ofthe driver was half enveloped in a big rubber mask. Through thetwo great goggles John could see little to help him identify theman. As the machine came up to the gate, he leapt into thetonneau and sank instantly to the bottom. As he did so he feltthe car leap forward underneath him. Now it was going fast, nowfaster, now it rocked and swayed as it gathered speed. He felt itsweeping down hill and up hill, and once he heard a hollow rumbleas it crossed a wooden bridge.

　　He could not detect from his hiding place in what direction theywere going, but he gathered they had switched off to the left andwere making for one of the wildest parts of the moor. Never oncedid he feel the car slacken its pace, until, with a grind ofbrakes, it stopped suddenly.

　　"Get out," said a voice.

　　John Lexman threw off the cover and leapt out and as he did so thecar turned and sped back the way it had come.

　　For a moment he thought he was alone, and looked around. Far awayin the distance he saw the grey bulk of Princetown Gaol. It wasan accident that he should see it, but it so happened that a rayof the sun fell athwart it and threw it into relief.

　　He was alone on the moors! Where could he go?

　　He turned at the sound of a voice.

　　He was standing on the slope of a small tor. At the foot therewas a smooth stretch of green sward. It was on this stretch thatthe people of Dartmoor held their pony races in the summer months.

　　There was no sign of horses; but only a great bat-like machinewith out-stretched pinions of taut white canvas, and by thatmachine a man clad from head to foot in brown overalls.

　　John stumbled down the slope. As he neared the machine he stoppedand gasped.

　　"Kara," he said, and the brown man smiled.

　　"But, I do not understand. What are you going to do!" askedLexman, when he had recovered from his surprise.

　　"I am going to take you to a place of safety," said the other.

　　"I have no reason to be grateful to you, as yet, Kara," breathedLexman. "A word from you could have saved me.""I could not lie, my dear Lexman. And honestly, I had forgottenthe existence of the letter; if that is what you are referring to,but I am trying to do what I can for you and for your wife.""My wife!""She is waiting for you," said the other.

　　He turned his head, listening.

　　Across the moor came the dull sullen boom of a gun.

　　"You haven't time for argument. They discovered your escape," hesaid. "Get in."John clambered up into the frail body of the machine and Karafollowed.

　　"This is a self-starter," he said, "one of the newest models ofmonoplanes."He clicked over a lever and with a roar the big three-bladedtractor screw spun.

　　The aeroplane moved forward with a jerk, ran with increasing gaitfor a hundred yards, and then suddenly the jerky progress ceased.

　　The machine swayed gently from side to side, and looking over, thepassenger saw the ground recede beneath him.

　　Up, up, they climbed in one long sweeping ascent, passing throughdrifting clouds till the machine soared like a bird above the bluesea.

　　John Lexman looked down. He saw the indentations of the coast andrecognized the fringe of white houses that stood for Torquay, butin an incredibly short space of time all signs of the land wereblotted out.

　　Talking was impossible. The roar of the engines defiedpenetration.

　　Kara was evidently a skilful pilot. From time to time heconsulted the compass on the board before him, and changed hiscourse ever so slightly. Presently he released one hand from thedriving wheel, and scribbling on a little block of paper which wasinserted in a pocket at the side of the seat he passed it back.

　　John Lexman read:

　　"If you cannot swim there is a life belt under your seat."John nodded.

　　Kara was searching the sea for something, and presently he foundit. Viewed from the height at which they flew it looked no morethan a white speck in a great blue saucer, but presently themachine began to dip, falling at a terrific rate of speed, whichtook away the breath of the man who was hanging on with both handsto the dangerous seat behind.

　　He was deadly cold, but had hardly noticed the fact. It was allso incredible, so impossible. He expected to wake up and wonderedif the prison was also part of the dream.

　　Now he saw the point for which Kara was making.

　　A white steam yacht, long and narrow of beam, was steaming slowlywestward. He could see the feathery wake in her rear, and as theaeroplane fell he had time to observe that a boat had been putoff. Then with a jerk the monoplane flattened out and came like askimming bird to the surface of the water; her engines stopped.

　　"We ought to be able to keep afloat for ten minutes," said Kara,"and by that time they will pick us up."His voice was high and harsh in the almost painful silence whichfollowed the stoppage of the engines.

　　In less than five minutes the boat had come alongside, manned, asLexman gathered from a glimpse of the crew, by Greeks. Hescrambled aboard and five minutes later he was standing on thewhite deck of the yacht, watching the disappearing tail of themonoplane. Kara was by his side.

　　"There goes fifteen hundred pounds," said the Greek, with a smile,"add that to the two thousand I paid the warder and you have atidy sum-but some things are worth all the money in the world!"