"Listen!" he whispered. I strained my ears until they ached. Behind us, in the quiet of the night, I could hear footsteps creeping and stealthy, not very far away. Vincott drew me into an angle of the wall, and we waited there holding our breaths. The footsteps slid nearer and nearer. Never since have I heard a sound which so filled me with terror. The haunting secrecy of their approach had something in it which chilled the blood--the sound of a man on the trail. He passed no more than six feet from where we stood. It was Otto Krax; and we remained until we could hear him no more. Vincott wiped his forehead. "If he had stopped in front of us," I said, "I should have cried out." "And by the Lord," said he, "I should have done no less." A hundred yards further on, Vincott stopped again. "He has found out his mistake," he exclaimed in a low, quavering voice. We listened again; the footsteps were returning swiftly, but with the same quiet stealth. "Quick!" said Vincott, "against the wall!" "No," said I, "he is tracking along the side of it. Let us face and pass him." We walked on at a good pace, and made no effort at concealment. The man stopped as soon as we had gone by, turned, and came after us. My heart raced in my breast. He quickened his pace and drew level. "Tis a strange time for women to run these streets." He spoke with a guttural accent, and his face leered over my shoulder. In a passion of fear I swung my arm free from the cloak, and hit at the face with all my strength. The dress I was wearing ripped at the shoulder as though you had torn a sheet of brown paper. My blow by good fortune caught him in the neck at the point where the jaw curves up into the cheek, and he fell heavily to the ground, his head striking full upon a rounded cobble. I waited to see no more, but tucked up my skirts and ran as though the fiend were at my heels, with Vincott panting behind me. We never halted until we had reached the alley which led to the back-door of the inn. I invited Vincott to come in with me and recruit his energies with a second dose of Bristol milk. "No! no!" he returned. "'Tis late already, and you have to start betimes in the morning." "There is the ceiling," I suggested. He laughed softly. "Mr. Buckler, I exaggerated its beauties," he said, "and I fear me if I went in with you I should be forced to repeat my error. It is just that which I wish to avoid." "There are other and indifferent topics," I replied, "on which we might speak frankly." For a change had come over my spirit, and I dreaded to be left alone. Vincott shook his head. "We should not find our tongues would talk of them." However, he made no motion of departure, but stood scraping a toe between the stones. Then I heard him chuckle to himself.