As Marigold listened she heard Mr. Boyne speaking to his pet. "Now then, you’ve had enough, Nibby! Get back, you elusive little dear!" And she heard him chasing him across the floor. Then he unlocked another cupboard, and a few minutes later he came out into the passage and ascended the stairs. In consequence she closed her own door noiselessly, slipped the bolt, and stood listening. He passed her door, and then ascended the next flight of stairs, therefore she reopened her door instantly and, looking out, saw his form disappearing round the corner of the next landing. She held her breath. He was dressed in that long hooded cloak of white, just as she had seen him on that well-remembered night weeks ago. He was on his way to that locked room, and carried in his hand food for its imprisoned occupant! Dare she follow him? She was there at Gerald’s suggestion, and it was for her to discover all she could. As she listened she heard the key being put into the Yale lock of that strong door at the top of the stairs. She heard him enter, the latch clicking behind him. Then she heard strange cries—cries of surprise and rage—human cries! Summoning courage she crept noiselessly after him, listening intently. There were no sounds of voices—only those strange cries—though, having ascended the second flight of stairs, she could see a streak of light beneath the door, and could hear him moving about within. Suddenly, just as she was about to ascend the third flight, she heard him approach the door and open it. Instantly she drew back and flew down into her room. And none too quickly, for a second later they would have encountered each other face to face. Boyne, unsuspicious of being watched, for so occupied was he that he had forgotten Marigold’s presence in the house, returned to his sitting-room, divested himself of the hideous disguise which he always wore when visiting the locked room, and then reascended to bed. The girl lay awake for hours until, wearied out, she fell asleep till her aunt brought her some tea. "Don’t let Mr. Boyne know that I’ve stayed here to-night, auntie," she said, getting up hurriedly. "I’ll get away before he comes down. I don’t want him to know I’ve been so ill." The old woman read her lips and nodded, saying in a whisper: "As soon as you’re gone, dear, I’ll make the bed." "I don’t want any breakfast. I’ll get to the City early, and have it there." And this she did. When Boyne came down to breakfast he asked his housekeeper how her niece was, to which she replied that she had recovered at about ten o’clock on the previous night and gone home to Wimbledon.