An hour passed and then another, and the night wore on to dawn. Still the room was quiet and Alan at length began to feel drowsy, for his long vigil was telling on his tired body. Through the shutters he saw a thread of cold light, which showed that day was breaking, and heard the early outburst of song with which the birds greeted the dawn. He shifted himself into a more comfortable position, and closed his eyes, when suddenly he opened them again widely, and every sense intensified its power. There was certainly a noise—that of shuffling footsteps, hesitating, dragging, doubtful, as though the individual was in deadly terror of discovery. Then after a pause came the cautious opening of the library door, and Alan peering round the corner of the screen, saw a gleam of light. It came from a candle held in a man’s hand, and the glimmer shone faintly on the haggard face. The newcomer was Randolph Vernon Sorley, and he looked like a ghost of his former self, bowed-down, white-faced, and lean. Closing the door he went to the cupboard where the golden bird had been found by him, and opened the same. In a moment or so Alan heard the sound of eating, and saw that Sorley was eagerly devouring food. Apparently in his prosperous days he had established a larder in the cupboard against the time when he might be hunted down. The sight gave Alan the idea that the man might be guilty after all, since otherwise he would not have prepared for such a contingency. However, there was small time to consider this reason and that, for Sorley having eaten, might slip away to his hiding-place, and then in the rambling old mansion it would be impossible to discover him. When the man left the cupboard and came to the table, he placed his candle thereon, took a long drink from a flask—it probably contained whisky and water—and then shuffled to the panel marked with a cross. Slipping this aside he held the candle so that he might admire his jewels. Alan thought it was now time to make his presence known in the least startling way possible. “Mr. Sorley!” he said softly, and rising with caution. “Oh God!” gasped the man, dropping the light, and suppressing a scream. In the darkness Alan groped his way forward. “Don’t be afraid. It is Alan Fuller. I am your friend. “Alan,” the young man heard the click of the door, and knew that the fugitive was making for his hiding-place. But he halted when hearing the voice and the name. “Alan,” said Sorley in the darkness, and his quavering voice hinted at relief. “Oh thank heaven you have come! How did you guess——” “Marie and granny heard certain noises,” said Alan quickly. “Yes,” muttered Sorley, lighting another candle which he apparently took out of his pocket, since the fallen one was lying near the panel. “I was not so careful as I should have been. But it could not go on for ever, so I am glad you have come, Alan. I want help,” his voice trembled piteously, “yes I want help to escape.”