He looked at her gravely. “I don’t know yet. It may all mean nothing of any consequence. On the other hand it may mean something of considerable importance.” “To you?” “To your new friend. Now hold your tongue, and pour out.” CHAPTER XI IN the darkness of the hour preceding dawn John Corrie, fully dressed, lay on his bed listening. The sound he had been dreading yet yearning for had come at last. His sister was moving in the room above. The atmosphere was sultry, yet the man shivered. Was Rachel about to attempt the deed that might save him, or was she only restlessly repenting of her wild promise? If the former, should he stop her, or let her take her self-appointed course? One question led to another, but none got an answer. At last he was aware that she was cautiously opening her door. He did not move. He heard her come stealthily down the stair, pausing after every creak. Presently he caught a glimpse of light under his door. It vanished, yet not so suddenly as though a candle had been blown out. She must have turned into the passage leading to the shop. What could she be wanting there at such an hour? He pretended to himself that he could not guess. After a little while the light returned with her footsteps. It remained in his vision during the short silence that ensued. The silence ended in a heavy sigh. John Corrie lay very still. The light went out. He heard her groping her way to the front door. He heard it open—close—softly. She was gone on her dark errand, and he had deliberately let her go. Nothing he could ever do or suffer in this world would redeem his soul from that loathsome disgrace. But John Corrie was not thinking of his soul then. He sprang up, lit a candle and ran upstairs; thence he peeped from a window. He was in time to see a cloaked figure fade into the misty murk. The cloak bulged at one side. What was she carrying in it concealed? Again he pretended he could not guess. Returning downstairs he pretended also not to feel the strong, rank odour of paraffin, nor to notice the drips on the passage from the shop. He returned to his bed, but now he kept the candle burning, for he was afraid of the darkness. And ere three minutes had passed, he rose, shaken with a new terror. What if the holder of the letter should, in spite of all, escape with it? . . . For a moment he wavered on the verge of collapse, then the very terror itself stiffened his nerves, cleared his mind, and drove him to action.