Precisely the moment when such a thought came to him, he could not say, but before he had finished reading his attention was partially distracted by a curious and instinctive conviction. He felt that he was not alone--that the solitude of his chamber, high up in the building and cut off, as it were, from the world, had been broken. He ceased reading, and although he was no coward he could feel his heart beating. He felt a strange reluctance to turn round. Then the silence was broken. Close to his left ear sounded the click of a revolver, and a man's voice came to him from out of the shadows. CHAPTER XXVII FELLOW-CRIMINALS "Stand precisely as you are, Douglas Guest. If you turn your head, or take a single step towards me, you are a dead man." Douglas was not a coward, and the sound of a human voice dispelled in a moment the vague fears which had caused his heart to leap. He remained immovable. "Under those circumstances," he answered steadily, "I can assure you that I have not the slightest intention of moving. Who are you, and what do you want with me?" A hard little laugh. Again the click of a revolver. "I want from you several things. First of all, and most important, the address of the writer of that letter which you have just been reading." "That's precisely," Douglas said, "what I should like to know myself. The lady does not give it." "You are very near death, Douglas Guest. Her address? "I am not in the habit of swearing," Douglas answered, "but upon my oath it is not in this letter. Upon my oath I do not know it." He caught the sound of a sob, but when he would have turned his head there came again the sharp click of the revolver and an angry exclamation from his unseen adversary. "Stand as you are. If by chance you should see my face I will shoot you. I have killed men before, and I have no love for you." Then Douglas knew that his assailant, if not a lunatic, was surely verging upon madness. He looked towards the door--the distance was too far. No answer occurred to him which seemed discreet, so he remained silent. "As to her state of health, Douglas Guest. She has been ill." "I know nothing save that she is better." "Have you seen her since?" "You were with her when she was taken ill?" "I was," Douglas answered. "You know the circumstances?" "I know," Douglas said, "that she was the victim of a cowardly and infamous attempt at assassination." There came a mocking little laugh. Douglas never turned his head, but he felt instinctively that his life was in danger--that a finger was laid upon the trigger of that revolver. "You are a brave man, Douglas Guest." "Braver at least," Douglas answered, "than the man who shoots at women and runs away." There was the sound of a scornful laugh, a step upon the floor. His unbidden guest was coming from out of the shadows. "You need fear no longer. I am known to you, I see. I have put my revolver away. You and I will talk for a while."