"Last night," he continued, "you crept downstairs after you had gone to your room, and you listened at the door of the smoking-room, where I was talking with Miller," and he laughed as he saw how she started at his accusation. "Yes, you see I know all about it. The faithful Minton, who saw you, told me," he went on in a hard voice. "You overheard something--something that has very much surprised you. Now there's an old adage that says listeners never hear any good of themselves. Therefore we must come to a thorough understanding as soon as we can get a quiet half-hour alone together." "I think it is perfectly unnecessary," she said, with some attempt at defiance. "There, I beg to differ," he answered. "You have learnt a secret, and I must have some adequate guarantee that that secret is kept--that no single word of it is breathed to a living soul. You understand, Ella," he added, in a low, fierce half-whisper, lowering his dark clean-shaven face to hers. "You understand! _My life depends upon it_!" CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. AT DAWN. The dark-haired woman who had accompanied Ella in the motor-car came forth and joined the pair, preventing any further confidences, and a few minutes later the dinner-gong sounded, and all three went in to join Mr Murray and his companion. The windows of the dining-room were closed almost immediately, therefore I neither saw nor heard anything more of that strange household. My one desire was to see Ella alone, but how could I give her news of my presence? I turned on my heel and strolled slowly back down the dark road in the direction of the village. The first suggestion that crossed my mind was to send her a telegram making an appointment for the following morning, but on reflection I saw that if they had fled in secret, as they seemed to have done, then the arrival of a telegram would arouse Mr Gordon-Wright's suspicions. Indeed he might actually open it. I was dealing with a queer fish, a man who was a past-master in alertness and ingenious conspiracy. As Minton, at the Manor, was in the confidence of Miller, so that round-shouldered old fellow was, no doubt, Gordon-Wright's trustworthy sentinel. A dozen different modes of conveying a note to her suggested themselves, but the one I adopted was, perhaps, the simplest of them all. I returned to the inn, scribbled upon a small piece of paper a few lines to my well-beloved asking her to meet me at a spot I indicated at six o'clock next morning, and then I called Gibbs, took him into my confidence, and gave him instructions to take the pair of lady's gloves with fur gauntlets that I had found in one of the pockets of the car, go boldly to the house, ask to see "the young lady who had just arrived by motor-car," and tell her a fictitious story how he had found the gloves where they had stopped at Plymouth, and as he was passing through Upper Wooton on the way to Launceston he thought he would like to restore them to her.