More than a minute passed before the knave dared to pick himself up. The last five stairs had been rough with his hinder parts, but his physical pain was nothing to the paroxysm of mental torment which the noise of his fall had induced. Trembling with apprehension, he groped his way to his bags. Of these, one had to be strapped, for the catch of its lock was broken. He knelt down with his back to the door, fumbling.... A sudden step upon the gravel immediately outside the front door almost congealed his blood. That peril could blow from that quarter he had never imagined. Once again he remained where he was, as still as death. Unless the new-comer was there because his suspicions were aroused, there was a chance that Mr. Morgan might yet escape notice. Who the new-comer might be, he had no time to speculate, for, without being unlocked, the door was pushed open. Mr. Morgan marked the phenomenon, and his hair rose. Then a man stepped inside and stood still.... Mr. Morgan held his breath until his lungs were bursting and his head swam, but the man never moved. The fact was that Anthony was staring at the same shaft of light which had attracted Betty's attention. This, however, was no longer appearing upon the landing, but in the hall, which, with the exception of that corner which contained the crouching ex-footman, it was doing much to illuminate. From this it would appear that the arresting beam, so far from emanating from the moon, was none other than Mr. Morgan's evil genius, following him about wherever he went. It was, in fact, his torch, which in his confusion he had thrust glowing into his pocket _the wrong way up_. That one end must protrude, he knew, for the brand was longer than the pocket was deep. He had, of course, no idea at all that it was advertising his presence and slightest movement so very faithfully.... It became impossible for Mr. Morgan any longer to restrain his breath. He therefore expelled it as gently as he possibly could, inhaling a fresh supply with the same caution, and wondering dully whether it was to be his last. The suspense was unbearable. Anthony, of course, was perfectly satisfied that the light was thrown by a torch. The source of the latter, however, was shrouded, not only in mystery, but in a darkness which the very light of the beam served to intensify. He continued to stand still. There never was such a case. Anthony, who knew the value of waiting, was prepared to stay still indefinitely. Mr. Morgan was afraid to do anything else. Clearly, if they were not to remain where they were until dawn, there was need of a _deus ex machina_. He arrived then and there in the shape of a little white dog with a black patch. He was extremely wet, and there were burrs in his coat and mud upon his beard. His tail was up, however, and his gait as sprightly as ever.