"Forgive me for receiving you in this antagonistic manner, sir, but--but you don't know what Mr Arnold's death means to me. It means everything to me--all that--" But his lips closed with a snap without concluding his sentence. "A few moments before he died he gave me this letter, with instructions to meet you at Totnes to-day," and I handed him the dead man's missive. Eagerly, with trembling fingers, he broke open the black seals; but the letter was in a second envelope, also carefully sealed with black wax. This he also tore open, and breathlessly read the closely scribbled lines which it contained--the message from the dead. He bit his full red lips, his cheeks went ashen pale, and his nostrils dilated. "I--I wish to thank you for carrying out Arnold's injunctions," he managed to gasp. "I went to Totnes for the purpose of meeting him, for he had made the appointment with me three months ago. Yet it seemed that he must have had some presentiment that he could not keep it himself, or he would not have suggested me wearing a red tie, a carnation, and carrying this old-fashioned ebony stick which he gave me long ago." Briefly I recounted my meeting with him when he came on board at Naples, his sudden illness, and its fatal termination in the Strand hotel. "Ah, yes," sighed the man Dawnay--the man whom I was to help, but not to trust. "Poor Arnold was a great traveller--ever on the move; but for years he knew that he had a weak heart." I was about to make further inquiry regarding the man who had so strangely left me a legacy, but Dawnay suddenly exclaimed-- "You and I must not be seen together, Mr Kemball--for I notice by this letter that that is your name." "Where can I meet you again?" I inquired; for I recollected the dead man's words that my strange companion might be in sore need of a friend. "I hardly know," was his hasty answer, as he replaced his pistol in his pocket. "I am closely watched. Probably you saw the man--a fellow in a straw hat." "Yes--and the old woman." "Ah! then you are observant, Mr Kemball," he exclaimed, with a slight grin. "Yes, I am in danger--grave danger at this moment; and how to escape I know not." "Escape from what?" "From arrest." "Is that young-looking man a police-officer?" I asked, much surprised. "Yes; he's older than he looks. I ought never to have dared to go to Totnes." "Why not Totnes?" I asked. "I was lying low--for a certain reason, Mr Kemball. All of us have to wash in dirty water sometimes, you know," he smiled grimly. "You are an honest man, no doubt--I too was, once." "And now the police are in search of you--eh?" I asked. So my estimate of the man was not very far wrong. He nodded slowly in the affirmative. A silence fell between us. This discovery, coupled with Arnold's mysterious connection with the trial of the adventuress who called herself Lady Lettice Lancaster, caused me to ponder. Arnold had warned me not to trust him entirely.