My mouth turned suddenly dry, as I thought of the tea I had doctored with the drops from the flask, of which only a little was needed to send "a strong man to sleep--for ever." But Davies and Sir Charles were talking again, so I pulled myself together. "How do you account for this umbrella and the gloves?" I heard Davies ask, and Thorold answered: "Let me have a look at them." They were silent for some moments. "He has had some one there, that's evident," Sir Charles said. "Who on earth can it have been? This is an expensive umbrella, silk, and gold-mounted, and these gloves, too, are good ones. It's extraordinary their owner should have forgotten to take them with him." "He may be in the house still," answered Davies. "I hope, for his own sake, he isn't," Sir Charles said, in a hard voice. "Let us come and have a look at poor old Taylor. We shall find the keys in his pocket, anyway, and when we have attended to the other matter, we'll go up and see Vera, and try to bring her to her senses with regard to Paulton. She must do it--hang it--she _must_! I hate the thought of it, but it's my only chance of escape from this accursed parasite!" Voices and footsteps died away. Once more the house was silent as death. Truly, that deserted house was a house of mystery. CHAPTER NINE. THE GENTLEMAN NAMED PAULTON. On creeping back to her room, I found Vera awaiting me anxiously. She, too, had heard the men talking, she had recognised her father's and his companion's voices, though unable to catch what was being said. I bent, and we exchanged kisses. In a few words I told her what had occurred, and explained the situation. I wanted to ask her about the man Davies; how she came to know him, and if she had known him long. There were other matters, too, that I wished to talk to her about, but there was no time to do so then. Though I pride myself upon a rapidity of decision in moments of crises, and have misled the more ingenuous among my friends into believing that I really am a man of exceedingly strong character, who would never find himself at a loss if brought suddenly face to face with a critical problem, I don't mind admitting that I am an invertebrate, vacillating creature at such times. Oh, no, I never lose my head. Don't think that. But when instant decision is needed, and there are several decisions one might come to, I get quite "jumpy," half make up my mind to take one course, half make up my mind to take the opposite course, and finally take the third, or it may be the fourth or fifth. "Well, you had better get away at once, dear," Vera urged quickly, when I had told her what I had heard below. "But what are you going to do?" I asked. "Oh, I know what I'm going to do," she replied at once, "but I want to have your plan. I know, dear, you are never at a loss when `up against it,' to use your own phrase. You have often told me so, or implied it."