“Perhaps,” he said slowly, “it would be better to wait and see who it is coming up behind. Our young friend there is safe. The current has him, and the tarn is bottomless.” There was a moment’s indecision--a moment which was to count for much in the lives of three men. Then the elder one’s counsels prevailed. They crept away down the hill, smoothly and noiselessly. Behind them, the faint throbbing grew less and less distinct. Soon they heard it no more. They drove into the dawn and through the long day. Side by side on one of the big leather couches in the small smoking room of the Milan Hotel, Mr. James P. Rounceby and his friend Mr. Richard Marnstam sat whispering together. It was nearly two o clock, and they were alone in the room. Some of the lights had been turned out. The roar of life in the streets without had ceased. It was an uneasy hour for those whose consciences were not wholly at rest! The two men were in evening dress--Rounceby in dinner coat and black tie, as befitted his role of travelling American. The glasses in front of them were only half-filled, and had remained so for the last hour. Their conversation had been nervous and spasmodic. It was obvious that they were waiting for some one. Three o’clock struck by the little timepiece on the mantel shelf. A little exclamation of a profane nature broke from Rounceby’s lips. He leaned toward his companion. “Say,” he muttered, in a rather thick undertone, “how about this fellow Vincent Cawdor? You haven’t any doubts about him, I suppose? He’s on the square, all right, eh?” Marnstam wet his lips nervously. “Cawdor’s all right,” he said. “I had it direct from headquarters at Paris. What are you uneasy about, eh?” Rounceby pointed towards the clock. “Do you see the time?” he asked. “He said he’d be late,” Marnstam answered. Rounceby put his hand to his forehead and found it moist. “It’s been a silly game, all along,” he muttered. “We’d better have brought the young ass up here and jostled him!” “Not so easy,” Marnstam answered. “These young fools have a way of turning obstinate. He’d have chucked us, sure. Anyhow, he’s safer where he is.” They relapsed once more into silence. A storm of rain beat upon the window. Rounceby glanced up. It was as black out there as were the waters of that silent tarn! The man shivered as the thought struck him. Marnstam, who had no nerves, twirled his moustache and watched his companion with wonder. “You look as though you saw a ghost,” he remarked. “Perhaps I do!” Rounceby growled. “You had better finish your drink, my dear fellow,” Marnstam advised. “Afterwards--” Suddenly he stiffened into attention. He laid his hand upon his companion’s knee. “Listen!” he said. “There is some one coming.”