“May I not speak with ye alone, sir?” pleaded Jack. By now O’Hara was greatly intrigued.

“Ye may not. Unmask!” He was leaning half across the table, his eyes fixed on Jack’s face.

With a quaint little laugh that made O’Hara’s brows contract swiftly, my lord shrugged his shoulders French fashion and obeyed. The mask and hat were tossed lightly on to the table, and Miles found himself gazing into a pair of blue eyes that met his half defiantly, half imploringly. He drew in his breath sharply and the thin ivory rule he held snapped suddenly between his fingers. And at that crucial moment a door behind him that had stood ajar was pushed open, and my Lady O’Hara came tripping into the room.

The two gaolers and her husband turned at once to see who it was, while Jack, who had recognised her, but had not the least idea who she was, fell to dusting his boots with his handkerchief.

O’Hara rose, and for once looked severe.