"Yes; he came directly you had gone. He was there, there," she whispered, pointing towards the cliff. "Take me away: please take me away." Her words and looks were those of some frightened child, and on Artingale taking one of her hands she clung to him convulsively. "But, Julie dear, tell me," cried Cynthia, whose face was flushed and angry; "tell me--" "No, no. Not now. Not now. Let us get back to the hotel. I dare not stay here." Artingale and Cynthia exchanged glances, as they led the frightened girl out from amidst the piled-up rocks into the broad sunshine, and then slowly along the sandy portions of the beach, with the result that she gradually became more calm, but she checked at once the slightest effort made by her sister to gain any information. Even when, at a sign from Cynthia, Artingale drew back, she did not speak, but turned timidly and waited for him to come alongside. "Don't leave me, Harry," she said plaintively; so he joined them again, and walked with the sisters right up to the hotel, where Julia now seemed to have grown more herself; but there was that in her countenance which set Artingale thinking very deeply, and as soon as he had parted from the sisters, he went straight to James Magnus, whom he found in his room seated by the open window, and gazing out to sea. PART TWO, CHAPTER THREE. PLAYING DETECTIVE. "I say, old fellow, I've got some news for you that ought to make you well in half-an-hour," exclaimed Artingale. "What's that?" said Magnus, eagerly. "That scoundrel who gave you the ugly cut on the head is down here." "Down here!" cried Magnus, with his pale face flushing. "Yes; and he has seen and insulted Julia Mallow." A deadly pallor came over the countenance of the artist once more, as he rose from his chair, and caught his friend by the shoulder. "Harry," he said hoarsely, "you found out my secret when I thought it was hidden deeply away. You are right; your news does give me strength, and I shall live to kill that man." "Well, old fellow, I would rather, for everybody's sake, that you were not hung; but I don't wonder at what you say, for I feel just now as if I could shove the beggar over the cliff. But set aside talking, we must act. What is to be done?" "Let us see Mr Mallow at once." "Bah! He would hem and haw, and look rigid, and say we had better leave the matter to the police." "Very well, then, in Heaven's name let us speak to the police." "What about, my dear fellow? What are we to say? Don't you see that we are helpless. The man has kept outside the pale of the law; and besides, suppose we have him caught--if we can--think of the unpleasant _expose_, and how painful it would be to both of those poor girls. No, we can't do that. It would be horrible, my dear fellow. Suppose the scoundrel is trapped, and--I only say suppose--gets some sharp, unscrupulous lawyer to defend him. It would be painful in the extreme."