A cry--a scream broke from Tchigorsky's lips. He danced about the room like a madman. For the time being it was impossible for the astonished secretary to determine whether this was joy or anguish. "You are upset about something, sir," he said. Tchigorsky recovered himself by a violent effort that left him trembling like a reed swept in the wind. He gasped for breath. "It was the madness of an overwhelming joy!" he cried. "I would cheerfully have given ten years of my life for this information. Abell, you will have to go to Ravenspur for me to-day." Abell said nothing. He was used to these swift surprises. "You are to see this Ralph Ravenspur, Abell," continued Tchigorsky. "You are not to call at the castle; you are to hang about till you get a chance of delivering my message unseen. The mere fact that Ralph Ravenspur is blind will suffice for a clue to his identity. Look up the time-table!" Abell did so. He found a train to land him at Biston Junction, some ten miles from his destination. Half an hour later he was ready to start. From an iron safe Tchigorsky took a small object and laid it in Abell's hand. "Give him that," he said. "You are simply to say: 'Tchigorsky--Danger,' and come away, unless Ralph Ravenspur desires speech with you. Now, go. And as you value your life, do not lose that casket." It was a small brass box no larger than a cigarette case, rusty and tarnished, and covered with strange characters, evidently culled from some long-forgotten tongue. CHAPTER V A RAY OF LIGHT A sense of expectation, an uneasy feeling of momentous events about to happen, hung over the doomed Ravenspurs. For once, Marion appeared to feel the strain. Her face was pale, and, though she strove hard to regain the old gentle gaiety, her eyes were red and swollen with weeping. All through breakfast she watched Ravenspur in strange fascination. He seemed to have obtained some kind of hold over her. Yet nothing could be more patient, dull, and stolid than the way in which he proceeded with the meal. He appeared to dwell in an unseen world of his own; the stirring events of the previous night had left no impression on him whatever. For the most part, they were a sad and silent party. The terror that walked by night and day was stealing closer to them; it was coming in a new and still more dreadful form. Accident or the intervention of Providence had averted a dire tragedy; but it would come again. Ravenspur made light of the matter. He spoke of the danger as something past. Yet it was impossible wholly to conceal the agitation that filled him. He saw Marion's pale, sympathetic face; he saw the heavy tears in Vera's eyes, and a dreadful sense of his absolute impotence came upon him. "Let us forget it," he said almost cheerfully. "Let us think no more of the matter. No doubt, science can explain this new mystery."