"You will do," he said. "And you will go alone on your expedition. You are acquainted with all the vaults and passages of the castle by this time; every inch of the ground is known to you. Give me your coat and shoes." Geoffrey handed them over, getting a pair of rubber-soled shoes and a rough pea jacket in exchange. In the pocket of the latter he found a revolver. "Now what am I to do?" he demanded. "Stand here," Tchigorsky explained. "Presently you will see a figure or two, perhaps more. You will not understand what they are saying, but that makes no difference. You are to follow them, stick to them. If nothing happens by dawn you can afford to leave them to their own devices. If circumstances place you in dire peril, be brave, for help is not far off." Geoffrey might have asked another question or two. But Tchigorsky turned away abruptly and was speedily lost in the darkness. And then followed for Geoffrey the most trying part of the business, waiting for the first sign of the foe. Half an hour passed and still no sign. Had the affair miscarried and the miscreants got away in some other direction? Strain his ears as he would, Geoffrey could catch nothing. Then at length something soft and rustling seemed to be creeping along on the lawn on the other side of the hedge. Geoffrey crept through the gate into the garden. Almost instantly he dropped on his face, for somebody carrying a lantern was softly creeping in his direction. It was the figure of a woman, a woman who had a black lace shawl so wrapped about her that in the feeble light it was impossible to make out her features. She paused and made a hissing sound between her teeth. As if they had been evolved out of Geoffrey's inner consciousness, there appeared two men upon the lawn One was lying on his back, his head supported on the arm of his companion. They were Indian natives of some kind, but of what race precisely Geoffrey could not say. The prostrate man had an ugly cut across his forehead; it was the same man that Geoffrey had seen looking through the window. A crafty, ugly, sinister face it was, full of cunning malignity. The eyes were dull, but the fires of hate were still in them. The woman stooped down and produced cool bandages soaked in some pungent liquid, which she proceeded to bind round the brows of the injured man. Even at his respectful distance Geoffrey could catch the odor of the bandages. He watched the weird midnight scene with breathless interest. There was something creepy about the whole business. If these people had nothing to conceal, all this surgical work might have taken place indoor; they might have called assistance. Geoffrey tried to catch sight of the woman's features. But that was impossible. Still, there was something familiar about her. Geoffrey felt quite sure that he had seen that graceful figure before. She stood up presently and Geoffrey no longer had any doubt. It was Mrs. Mona May.