It was late when Quentin reluctantly arose to make his adieux. He had finished acknowledging the somewhat effusive invitations to the houses of his new acquaintances, and was standing near Dorothy, directly in front of a tall bank of palms. From one point of view this collection of plants looked like a dense jungle, so thickly were they placed on the porch at its darkest end. The light from a drawing-room window shone across the front of the green mass, but did not penetrate the recess near the porch rail. He was taking advantage of a very brief opportunity, while others were moving away, to tell her that Mile. Louise was fascinating, when her hand suddenly clasped his arm and she whispered: “Phil, there is a man behind those palms.” His figure straightened, but he did not look around. “Nonsense, Dorothy. How could a man get--” he began, in a very low tone. “I saw the leaves move, and just now I saw a foot near the rail. Be careful, for heaven's sake, but look for yourself; he is near the window.” Like statues they stood, she rigid under the strain, but brave enough and cool enough to maintain a remarkable composure. She felt the muscle of his forearm contract, and there swept over her a strange dread. His eyes sought the spot indicated in a perfectly natural manner, and there was no evidence of perturbation in his gaze or posture. The foot of a man was dimly discernible in the shadow, protruding from behind a great earthen jar. Without a word he led her across the porch to where the others stood. “Good-night, Mrs. Garrison,” he said, calmly, taking the hand she proffered. Dorothy, now trembling like a leaf, looked on in mute surprise. Did he mean to depart calmly, with the knowledge that they needed his protection? “Good-night, Miss Garrison. I trust I shall see you soon.” Then, in a lower tone: “Get the people around the corner here, and not a word to them.” The ladies were quite well past the corner before he ventured to tell the men, whom he held back on some trifling pretext, that there was a man among the plants. The information might have caused a small panic had not his coolness dominated the nerves of the others. “Call the gendarmes,” whispered de Cartier, panic stricken. “Call the servants.” “We don't want the officers nor the servants,” said Philip, coolly. “Let the ladies get inside the house and we'll soon have a look at our fellow guest.” “But he may be armed,” said the count, nervously. “Doubtless he is. Burglars usually are. I had an experience with an armed burglar once on a time, and I still live. Perhaps a few palms will be damaged, but we'll be as considerate as possible. There is no time to lose, gentlemen. He may be trying to escape even now.”