He pushed past the servant, one of the readiest and most dangerous of the colonel's instruments, and into the half-dark corridor. There was a light on the landing below, and as he ran down the stairs he thought he saw somebody standing there. It looked like a woman till the figure turned, and then Solomon White stood stock still. It was the first time he had seen Jack o' Judgment. The shimmer of the black silk coat, the curious suggestion of pallor which the white mask conveyed, the slouch hat, throwing a black bar of shadow diagonally across the face, lent the figure a peculiarly sinister aspect. "Stand!" The voice was commanding, the glittering revolver in the figure's hand more so. "Who are you?" gasped Solomon White. "Jack o' Judgment! Have you ever heard of little Jack?" chuckled the figure. "Oh, here's a new one--Solomon White, too, and never heard of Jack o' Judgment! Didn't you see me when they took me out of 'Snow' Gregory's pocket? Little Jack o' Judgment!" Solomon White stepped back, his face twitching. "I had nothing to do with that," he said hoarsely, "nothing to do with that, do you hear?" "Where are you going? Won't you tell Jack something, give him a bit of news? Poor old Jack hears nothing these days," sighed the figure, laughter bubbling between the words. "I'm going on private business. Get out of my way," said the other, remembering the urgency of his mission. "But you'll tell Jack o' Judgment?" wheedled the figure, "you'll tell poor old Jack where you are going to find your beautiful daughter?" "You know!" said the man. He took a step forward, but the revolver waved him back. "You'll speak, or you don't pass," said Jack o' Judgment. "You don't pass until you speak; do you hear, Solomon White?" The man thought. "It is a place called Bishopsholme," he said gruffly, "on Putney Heath. Now let me pass." "Wait, wait!" said the figure eagerly, "wait for me--only five minutes! I won't keep you! But don't go, there's death there, Solomon White! It is waiting for you--don't you feel it in your bones?" The voice sank to a whisper, and in spite of himself, a cold shiver passed down White's spine. He half-turned to go back. "Wait!" said the figure again eagerly, fiercely. "I shall not keep you a minute--a second!" Solomon White stood irresolutely, and the mask seemed to melt into the darkness. White strained his ears to catch the soft patter of its shoes as it mounted the stairs, but no sound came. Then with a start he seemed to awake as if from a bad dream, and without another word strode down the remaining stairs into the night.