John Bradfield went home with a lighter heart. Here was one danger got over, for the present at least. There remained one other to be grappled with; that other was--Stelfox. There could be little doubt that the man-servant had of late formed some sort of league against his master with that master’s victim, and Mr. Bradfield was anxious to know the exact terms of the compact. On reaching home, therefore, he condescended to play the spy, and with this object watched his opportunity, and when Stelfox unlocked the door of Mr. Richard’s apartments and went in, Mr. Bradfield followed him, entering by means of a duplicate key of his own. Between the outer door by which he had just passed in, and the door of Mr. Richard’s sitting-room, there was a passage, very dark and very narrow, lighted only by a little square window in the centre of the inner door, which had been made for secret observation, by Mr. Bradfield’s order, of the lunatic’s movements. Mr. Bradfield was advancing with cautious steps towards this window when he suddenly paused, struck motionless with terror. And yet he could see nothing, he could not even distinctly hear the words that were being exchanged in the room. All that he knew, in fact, was that he heard two voices in conversation. After a few moments of absolute stillness and hideous terror, he moved spasmodically forward to the inner door and looked through the little square window. All that he saw was Mr. Richard, seated at the table talking to Stelfox, who stood respectfully before him. Mr. Bradfield drew a long, gasping breath; made his way, stumbling at every other step, back through the passage on to the landing at the head of the staircase outside. There he made one step in the direction of the stairs, staggered, and fell down, gasping, unconscious, digging his nails into the flesh of his hands. CHAPTER XXVI. A SECRET CORRESPONDENCE. A beautiful peace had descended upon Wyngham House on the departure of the Graham-Shutes. There were no more scurryings up and down stairs on unimportant errands; no more conversations carried on at opposite ends of the house. Mrs. Abercarne rejoiced articulately in the change; but to Chris the satisfaction brought by the change was tempered by many things. For one thing, the girl was troubled by the consciousness that she was not acting quite openly, and by a fear of what the consequences would be if she were to do so. Her first meetings with Mr. Richard she had concealed from her mother for a perfectly good and honest reason, the fear of giving Mrs. Abercarne unnecessary alarm. Later, when she had begun to feel sure that Mr. Richard was not so mad as was supposed, Chris had thought it a pity to worry her mother with her story while Mrs. Abercarne spent her days in a tempest of irritation against her declared enemy, Mrs. Graham-Shute.