For the second time, he was checked on the point of setting the machinery of the hiding-place in motion. On this occasion, the interruption came from an outbreak of friendly voices in the corridor. A woman’s voice exclaimed, “Dearest Agnes, how glad I am to see you again!” A man’s voice followed, offering to introduce some friend to “Miss Lockwood.” A third voice (which Henry recognised as the voice of the manager of the hotel) became audible next, directing the housekeeper to show the ladies and gentlemen the vacant apartments at the other end of the corridor. “If more accommodation is wanted,” the manager went on, “I have a charming room to let here.” He opened the door as he spoke, and found himself face to face with Henry Westwick. “This is indeed an agreeable surprise, sir!” said the manager cheerfully. “You are admiring our famous chimney-piece, I see. May I ask, Mr. Westwick, how you find yourself in the hotel, this time? Have the supernatural influences affected your appetite again?” “The supernatural influences have spared me, this time,” Henry answered. “Perhaps you may yet find that they have affected some other member of the family.” He spoke gravely, resenting the familiar tone in which the manager had referred to his previous visit to the hotel. “Have you just returned?” he asked, by way of changing the topic. “Just this minute, sir. I had the honour of travelling in the same train with friends of yours who have arrived at the hotel—Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Barville, and their travelling companions. Miss Lockwood is with them, looking at the rooms. They will be here before long, if they find it convenient to have an extra room at their disposal.” This announcement decided Henry on exploring the hiding-place, before the interruption occurred. It had crossed his mind, when Agnes left him, that he ought perhaps to have a witness, in the not very probable event of some alarming discovery taking place. The too-familiar manager, suspecting nothing, was there at his disposal. He turned again to the Caryan figure, maliciously resolving to make the manager his witness. “I am delighted to hear that our friends have arrived at last,” he said. “Before I shake hands with them, let me ask you a question about this queer work of art here. I see photographs of it downstairs. Are they for sale?” “Certainly, Mr. Westwick!” “Do you think the chimney-piece is as solid as it looks?” Henry proceeded. “When you came in, I was just wondering whether this figure here had not accidentally got loosened from the wall behind it.” He laid his hand on the marble forehead, for the third time. “To my eye, it looks a little out of the perpendicular. I almost fancied I could jog the head just now, when I touched it.” He pressed the head inwards as he said those words.