When nine o’clock struck, I jumped up, much relieved, opened and shut the door softly, crossed the hall, and turned the handle of the drawing-room door. It was locked. I tapped; but there was no answer. He was playing a brilliant concerto, and I supposed he had not heard me. I knocked again and said softly-- “Mr. Rayner, it is nine o’clock. You told me to come at nine.” Still there was no answer, which I thought strange, for his hearing was generally very sharp indeed. It was of no use for me to stand there knocking if he would not hear me, or did not yet wish to be disturbed; so, after one more unsuccessful attempt to attract his attention, I took a lamp from the hall-table and went into the schoolroom. It was now ten minutes past nine. Nap was barking more furiously than ever. I knew by the mist there was all through the house how dense the fog must be outside; but I was so much struck by the noise the dog was making that I unfastened the shutters and opened the window about an inch to listen. The fog was blinding. I could not see a yard in front of me. I heard nothing but Nap’s barking for a minute; then I saw the dim glow of a lantern and heard a muffled whisper through the fog-- “Who’s that?” “It is I--Violet Christie. Is that you, Laurence?” “Hush! All right!” he whispered back. “Let me in.” He got in softly through the window, and, rather to my alarm, a middle-aged man in plain clothes, also with a lantern, followed him. Laurence himself looked more alarming than any thief. His face was ghastly white with fatigue, and dirtier than ever through long watching in the fog. He listened for a minute to the violin, then said quickly, but still in a low voice-- “Who is that playing?” “Mr. Rayner,” I answered. He turned sharply to the other man, who nodded as if to say it was just what he had expected. “How long has he been playing?” asked Laurence. “Ever since half-past seven.” He turned to the other man again. “A trick,” said the latter simply. “Who is with him?” asked Laurence again. “Nobody,” said I, surprised and rather frightened by these questions. “Mrs. Rayner and Mr. Maynard are in the dining-room.” “Maynard?” “Yes. He is asleep.” The middle-aged man gave a snort of disgust. “Hasn’t Mr. Rayner been in the dining-room at all, dear, this evening?” asked Laurence gently. “Not since dinner. I left him playing in the drawing-room at five-and-twenty minutes to eight, and he told me to call him at nine. He has been playing ever since.” “But it is past nine!” “Yes. When I went to the drawing-room door just now, I found it locked, and I knocked; but he did not answer.” “Will you go and knock again, and say you wish to speak to him particularly, dear?” said Laurence gravely. I hesitated, trembling from head to foot. “Why?” asked I, in a low voice. “Because we want to speak to him particularly,” said the other man gruffly. But I looked at his hard face and panted out--