“The world is before you,” I said, “and, so far as I am concerned, you may go where you will. I do not pretend to offer you any security from the vengeance of the men whose oath you have betrayed. I should be powerless to do that, however much I wished it. You must shift for yourself.” “Very well,” he answered, sullenly; and, rising to his feet, he began to button his coat and to gather together his hat and gloves and walking-cane. Then he made a movement to go, but half-way to the door stopped irresolutely. I thought he was about to speak again, but after a pause of a second or two he went on, opened the door with an unsteady hand, and went out without closing it behind him. The man I had told to wait outside must have been upon the watch, for I heard his voice at the very instant at which Brunow set foot in the narrow passage. “Well, sir?” he said. “Well?” said Brunow. “I am sorry to press this claim, sir,” said the man, “but I have my instructions, and I can't help it. If you'll give me your word that you will settle in the morning, I will wait till then. But it's no use making any bogus promise.” “I suppose you don't mean to lose sight of me?” Brunow asked. “That's the state of the case, sir,” the man answered. “H'm!” said Brunow, in a casual tone; “got anybody with you now?” “Sheriff's officer in a hackney-coach down-stairs,” the man responded. He had caught Brunow's tone to a hair, and spoke as if the whole thing were the merest casual trifle. “He's prepared to do his duty now?” asked Brunow. I heard no response, but I presume that the man gave some sign of affirmation, for Brunow went on: “Very well; I'm ready. It could hardly have happened at a better time.” “I thought you were going to square up to-morrow, sir,” the man said. “So did I,” responded Brunow; “but I've as much chance of that now as you have of being Emperor of China. Go on; I'm quite ready.” There was a trifling difficulty with the catch of the outer door, with which both Hinge and myself had long been familiar, and which we now surmounted with perfect ease. It bothered Brunow and the stranger, however, for I heard them both fumbling at the lock, and at last Hinge, hearing also, left his little bedroom on the landing and came to their assistance. Then the door was opened, and with a cry of “Goodbye, Fyffe!” to which I returned no answer, Brunow went away in charge of his business friend. At the first opening of the outer door the cold wind of the spring night came into the room with a burst, and scattered a handful of papers about the floor. I busied myself in picking these up again, but finding that the hall-door was still open, I called out to Hinge to close it. He delayed until I had repeated my order in an angry tone, and then, having closed the door, he came into my room with a hurried and excited look. “Beg pardon for keeping the door open, sir,” said Hinge, “but I've just seen something rather curious.”