Dare was certainly conscious of something, for he sat up, rubbed his eyes, and gazed around the room; then after a few moments of reflection he drew some article from beneath his pillow. A blue gleam shone from the object as Dare held it in the moonlight, and Havill perceived that it was a small revolver. A clammy dew broke out upon the face and body of the architect when, stepping out of bed with the weapon in his hand, Dare looked under the bed, behind the curtains, out of the window, and into a closet, as if convinced that something had occurred, but in doubt as to what it was. He then came across to where Havill was lying and still keeping up the appearance of sleep. Watching him awhile and mistrusting the reality of this semblance, Dare brought it to the test by holding the revolver within a few inches of Havill’s forehead. Havill could stand no more. Crystallized with terror, he said, without however moving more than his lips, in dread of hasty action on the part of Dare: ‘O, good Lord, Dare, Dare, I have done nothing!’ The youth smiled and lowered the pistol. ‘I was only finding out whether it was you or some burglar who had been playing tricks upon me. I find it was you.’ ‘Do put away that thing! It is too ghastly to produce in a respectable bedroom. Why do you carry it?’ ‘Cosmopolites always do. Now answer my questions. What were you up to?’ and Dare as he spoke played with the pistol again. Havill had recovered some coolness. ‘You could not use it upon me,’ he said sardonically, watching Dare. ‘It would be risking your neck for too little an object.’ ‘I did not think you were shrewd enough to see that,’ replied Dare carelessly, as he returned the revolver to its place. ‘Well, whether you have outwitted me or no, you will keep the secret as long as I choose.’ ‘Why?’ said Havill. ‘Because I keep your secret of the letter abusing Miss P., and of the pilfered tracing you carry in your pocket.’ ‘It is quite true,’ said Havill. They went to bed again. Dare was soon asleep; but Havill did not attempt to disturb him again. The elder man slept but fitfully. He was aroused in the morning by a heavy rumbling and jingling along the highway overlooked by the window, the front wall of the house being shaken by the reverberation. ‘There is no rest for me here,’ he said, rising and going to the window, carefully avoiding the neighbourhood of Mr. Dare. When Havill had glanced out he returned to dress himself. ‘What’s that noise?’ said Dare, awakened by the same rumble. ‘It is the Artillery going away.’ ‘From where?’ ‘Markton barracks.’ ‘Hurrah!’ said Dare, jumping up in bed. ‘I have been waiting for that these six weeks.’ Havill did not ask questions as to the meaning of this unexpected remark. When they were downstairs Dare’s first act was to ring the bell and ask if his Army and Navy Gazette had arrived.