That which so startled him was a man's form creeping up behind him in the shadow of the cathedral, a man who had come so near to him without his knowing it that, as Douglas turned and faced him, he sprang out at him and endeavoured to seize him by the throat. And as he did so he shrieked out, "Villain, thief, give me back my property! Give it back, I say, or," and he hissed the words out, "I will kill you! See, I am armed: you have left me this," and he brandished a long knife that shone in the moonlight--into which Douglas had now dragged him--as the jewels had heretofore shone. Of the man himself, nor of his dagger, Douglas had no fear; he was stronger than his antagonist, and his hand held the other's, which grasped the weapon, as in a vice. But what appalled, almost unnerved him, was that he knew the voice--and he knew the man. It was Fordingbridge. "You fool!" he cried, "do you not know me? I am Douglas Sholto," and as he said the words he felt the other's hold relax, felt him disengage himself and stagger back against the wall of the cathedral, where, the moon lighting up his pale, cadaverous face, he stood gasping and glaring at him. "Douglas Sholto!" he muttered, whispering to himself, "Douglas Sholto here? So, you herd with thieves and robbers, do you? Where are they gone, those others? Where, where, I say?" "To the gates, I imagine. Beyond them by now," for as he spoke the hour boomed forth from the clock in the tower above, and was repeated by all the other clocks in the city. "Your property, Lord Fordingbridge, is gone. I cannot say that I am sorry for it, though, had you not come when you did, I was about to follow the men who robbed you and have them stopped at the gate. Now, knowing whom they have despoiled, I can only say I rejoice that for once you have met with scoundrels as great as yourself." Glowering, staring at him intently, the other leaned back against the cathedral, while from his eyes there shone a light which looked like the light of madness. Nay, in that moment Douglas decided in his own mind that he was mad. Still, so great a villain did he know Fordingbridge to be, that, gentle as he was to all others, he could feel no pity towards him. Instead, he said: "So, my lord, not content with having nearly sacrificed our lives in England, you have tracked us all to this place, doubtless in furtherance of some scheme of your own, though what it is I cannot even guess. You can harm no one here. Your spite----" "It is false," said Fordingbridge; "I have done no such thing. I am myself on the road to Paris"--he did not say that he was a fugitive from England--"and I have been robbed of all--jewels, money, bills."