He took it and held it, looking at her in his straight, inscrutable way. "True, most gracious!" he said. "But I haven't quite done with it yet. Will you hear me a moment longer? You have of your goodness pardoned my outrageous behaviour, so I make no further allusion to that, except to tell you that I had been tempted to try a native drug which in its effects was worse than the fever pure and simple. But there is one point which only you can make clear. How was it you came to seek me out that night?" His grasp upon her hand was reassuring though she felt the quiver of physical weakness in its hold. It was the grasp of a friend, and her embarrassment began to fall away from her. "I came," she said, "because I had been startled. I had no idea you were anywhere near. I was really investigating the verandah because of--of something I had seen, when the light from this window attracted me. I thought possibly someone had broken in." "Will you tell me what startled you?" Monck said. She looked at him. "It was a man--an old native beggar. I only saw him for a moment. I was in Tommy's room, and he came and looked in at me. You--you must have seen him too. You were talking very excitedly about him. You threatened to shoot him." "Was that how you came to deprive me of my revolver?" questioned Monck. She coloured again vividly. "No, I thought you were going to shoot yourself. I will give it back to you presently." "When you consider that I can be safely trusted with it?" he suggested, with his brief smile. "But tell me some more about this mysterious old beggar of yours! What was he like?" She hesitated momentarily. "I only had a very fleeting glimpse of him. I can't tell you what he was really like. But--he reminded me of someone I never want to think of or suffer myself to think of again if I can help it." "Who?" said Monck. His voice was quiet, but it held insistence. She felt as if his eyes pierced her, compelling her reply. "A horrible old native--a positive nightmare of a man--whom I shall always regard as in some way the cause of my husband's death." In the pause that followed her words, Monck's hand left hers. He lay still looking at her, but with that steely intentness that told her nothing. She could not have said whether he were vitally interested in the matter or not when he spoke again. "You think that he was murdered then?" A sharp shudder went through her. "I am very nearly convinced of it," she said. "But I shall never know for certain now." "And you imagine that the murderer can have followed you here?" he pursued. "No! Oh no!" Hastily she made answer. "It is ridiculous of course. He would never be such a fool as to do that. It was only my imagination. I saw the figure at the window and was reminded of him." "Are you sure the figure at the window was not imagination too?" said Monck. "Forgive my asking! Such things have happened."