Perhaps it was childish on my part, but I accepted this curt dismissal very ill-humouredly. That Harley, for some reason of his own, wished to be alone, was evident enough, but I resented being excluded from his confidence, even temporarily. It would seem that he had formed a theory in the prosecution of which my coöperation was not needed. And what with profitless conjectures concerning its nature, and memories of Val Beverley’s pathetic parting glance as we had bade one another good-night, sleep seemed to be out of the question, and I stood for a long time staring out of the open window. The weather remained almost tropically hot, and the moon floated in a cloudless sky. I looked down upon the closely matted leaves of the box hedge, which rose to within a few feet of my window, and to the left I could obtain a view of the close-hemmed courtyard before the doors of Cray’s Folly. On the right the yews began, obstructing my view of the Tudor garden, but the night air was fragrant, and the outlook one of peace. After a time, then, as no sound came from the adjoining room, I turned in, and despite all things was soon fast asleep. Almost immediately, it seemed, I was awakened. In point of fact, nearly four hours had elapsed. A hand grasped my shoulder, and I sprang up in bed with a stifled cry, but: “It’s all right, Knox,” came Harley’s voice. “Don’t make a noise.” “Harley!” I said. “Harley! what has happened?” “Nothing, nothing. I am sorry to have to disturb your beauty sleep, but in the absence of Innes I am compelled to use you as a dictaphone, Knox. I like to record impressions while they are fresh, hence my having awakened you.” “But what has happened?” I asked again, for my brain was not yet fully alert. “No, don’t light up!” said Harley, grasping my wrist as I reached out toward the table-lamp. His figure showed as a black silhouette against the dim square of the window. “Why not?” “Well, it’s nearly two o’clock. The light might be observed.” “Two o’clock?” I exclaimed. “Yes. I think we might smoke, though. Have you any cigarettes? I have left my pipe behind.” I managed to find my case, and in the dim light of the match which I presently struck I saw that Paul Harley’s face was very fixed and grim. He seated himself on the edge of my bed, and: “I have been guilty of a breach of hospitality, Knox,” he began. “Not only have I secretly had my own car sent down here, but I have had something else sent, as well. I brought it in under my coat this evening.” “To what do you refer, Harley?” “You remember the silken rope-ladder with bamboo rungs which I brought from Hongkong on one occasion?” “Yes--” “Well, I have it in my bag now.” “But, my dear fellow, what possible use can it be to you at Cray’s Folly?” “It has been of great use,” he returned, shortly.