Silently crossing the room, she turned down her gas to a pin-point and blew out the candle with which she had intended to investigate. Then she returned to the door, and, opening it noiselessly, tiptoed into the outer darkness. Here the sound, though still faint, was more distinctly audible, and she was able to locate it at the door of the room occupied by the Duke. The discovery left her no time for fear, or even for conjecture. There was only one thing to be done—to rouse Alec and the Duke, but without, till that supreme moment, alarming the unseen manipulator at her cousin’s door. Thus would she narrow the time at the disposal of that mysterious person for revising his plans and effecting his escape. The thick pile carpet made for silence, and she stole quietly along the broad passage, touching and counting the doors till she reached that of Forsyth’s room—only a few feet from the gentle buz-buz that had attracted her attention, and only a few feet from someone stealthily at work in the dark. A steady snore from the interior of the Duke’s chamber explained his complacence under that uncanny tampering with his approaches. Again giving herself no time for fear, Sybil beat a rat-tat on Forsyth’s door, calling him by name. The sound at the next door immediately ceased, an instant of intense silence following, and then almost simultaneously two things happened. An iron grip settled on the girl’s wrist, just as Forsyth flung open the door of his room, in which he had wisely turned the gas full on as he leaped out of bed. The light streamed into the corridor and shone upon a man in shabby tweeds and bowler hat, who was holding Sybil, but not so hampered that he was prevented from drawing a revolver and aiming straight at Forsyth’s head. [Illustration: _"The procession of three led by the stranger."_] Whether he intended to fire or offer an ultimatum was not demonstrated, for before he could do either he was taken in the rear and found himself a target. There stood the Duke in his pajamas, with a handy little Smith and Wesson not a foot from the intruder’s temples, and with his left hand significantly extended. "Give me that pistol," he said, sternly. Beaumanoir was dealing with a tangible foe at last, and with a thrill of racial pride Sybil noted the light of battle in her relative’s eye. It was, therefore, more than a shock to her when the Duke, having relieved the tweed-coated lurker of his weapon, calmly added: "Now, sir, if you will be good enough to march in front of me down to the front door, I will let you out. You two," he continued, addressing Sybil and Forsyth in the same quiet tones, "will greatly oblige me by not raising any alarm or disturbing the servants while I am gone." "I am coming downstairs with you," said Forsyth, drily.