"It is a fact," said Durgo drily. "I didn't wish to tell you all my plans at once, as you and Miss Huxham here seemed to be so certain that I intended blue murder. If you had not been ready to trust me, I should not have changed my mind or have told you about the presence of the police. You look on me as a barbarous black man." "We look on you as a very good friend," said Bella quickly, for the negro seemed hurt by their suspicions. "There! there!" said Durgo gruffly, but bowing to the compliment. "Go to the Manor-house, Miss Huxham, and do what you can." "Good-bye, Cyril," said Bella. The young man ran after her as she moved up the corn path. "Don't go without a kiss, Bella," he said, catching her in his arms. "God keep you, my darling, and bring us safely through this dark business!" "I'm not afraid, now that I know Inspector Inglis and his men will be on the spot," whispered Bella. "Good-bye! and good-bye! and good-bye!" and she kissed him between each word. In a few minutes she was swallowed up in the gloom, which was growing denser every minute. "There will be a storm," prophesied Durgo, as the two men proceeded side by side to Mrs. Tunks' hut. "Hark!" Just as he spoke there came a deep, hoarse roll of thunder, as though the artillery of heaven was being prepared to bombard the guilty pair in the old Manor-house. Durgo, with the instinct of a wild animal, raised his nose and sniffed. "I smell the rain. Glory! look at the lightning." A vivid flash of forked lightning zig-zagged across the violent-hued sky, and again came the crash of thunder. Already the wind was rising, and the vast fields of corn were rustling and sighing and bending under its chill breath. "It is going to be a fierce night," said Durgo, dilating his nostrils to breathe the freshness of the air. "Do you remember in Macbeth, Cyril Lister, of the night of Duncan's murder?" and he quoted in his deep voice-- "_--but this sore night, Hath trifled former knowings._" Cyril looked at the strong black face, which showed clearly in the frequent flashes of lightning. "You are a strange man, Durgo. One would think that you were almost--" he hesitated. "A white man," finished Durgo coolly. "No, my friend. I am an educated black man, and an ingrained savage." He spoke mockingly, then flung back his military cloak. "Look! Would a man be like this in your sober England?" Cyril uttered an ejaculation, and had every reason to. In the bluish flare of the lightning he saw that Durgo had stripped himself to a loin-cloth, and that his powerful body was glistening with oil. The sole civilised things about him were canvas running-shoes which he wore, and the cloak. "Why have you stripped to the buff?" asked Cyril astonished. "I may have hard work to catch those two this night," said Durgo, replacing his cloak, which made him look quite respectable, "so I wish to run as easily as possible." "But there was no need to strip. The police won't be stripped."