It was more than half-past seven, and the house was very still, when I thought I heard a noise in one of the rooms above. Thinking it might be Barbara moving about, and that here was the opportunity to speak to her, I stole cautiously upstairs. The sound came from Murray Olivant's bedroom; I opened the door quickly, and walked in. Some one was standing at the further side of the room, in the dim light that came through the windows; but before I could see who it was, I felt myself seized in a powerful grip from behind, and forced to my knees. I was too surprised even to cry out; but I had a vague idea that something dreadful had happened to me and to my schemes, when the figure at the further end of the room twisted quickly round, and turned up the gas, which had been burning as a mere tiny speck of light. Then I saw that the man was Murray Olivant. I was going to cry out in earnest then, with some vague idea of raising an alarm, when I felt a twisted cloth forced into my mouth and tied tightly behind; my arms were already secured. So I remained on my knees, helpless; I turned my head, and saw Dawkins standing beside me, smiling as delightfully as ever. "Thank you, Dawkins," said Murray Olivant, with a nod; "that was rather neatly done. Now, will you have the goodness to run through his pockets, and see if you can find anything?" I made a feeble attempt to struggle, but it was useless. The deft fingers of Mr. Dawkins swiftly brought to light the note that young Millard had written but a few hours before; he tossed it across to Olivant. The latter opened it slowly, and read what was written there by the light of the gas jet. Then he turned to me, and shook his head. "Oh, you sly devil!" he said in a whisper. CHAPTER VI LOVE WITH THE VEILED FACE I crouched there on the floor, with my arms securely pinioned behind me, and unable to cry out. The man Dawkins had seated himself, after making certain that he had secured me; Murray Olivant had finished his perusal of the note, and was standing tapping his lips with it, evidently deep in thought. He pulled out his watch and looked at it; slipped the watch back into his pocket, and turned again to the note. He read it aloud--with interpolations of his own. "MY DEAREST (like his impudence, I must say!),-- "That good fellow Tinman (oh, you sly devil!) will tell you what I have decided to do. I will be waiting at the path that leads into the wood at about eight o'clock; you are to come with Tinman without fear (brave, sweet, kind Tinman, so very useful in a crisis!). He will bring you to me, and after that you will have nothing to trouble about. Trust me as much as I know you love me, and all will be well. Until we meet in an hour or two, "Ever your own, "ARNOLD."