"Release your prisoner," continued Wood, "or the window is opened. . ’ ‘Yes, it’s all my fault,’ he agreed soothingly, ‘and you may rail at me presently as much as you please. "A good idea!" exclaimed the carpenter. The big gray spaces of London, the shop-lit, greasy, shining streets, had become very remote; the biological laboratory with its work and emotions, the meetings and discussions, the rides in hansoms with Ramage, were like things in a book read and closed. It is useless to contend with him, even with right on your side. His statement was treated with derision.
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