"You must be mistaken," I exclaimed roughly, with all my old suspicions sweeping in upon me like a flood. "Where can she have gone to?" "I dunno," whimpered the girl. "But I tell you she's gorn." I ran out of the house, scarcely knowing what I meant to do. My thoughts turned naturally to the man who had made up his mind to get hold of Barbara; I determined to go to Murray Olivant at once. With difficulty, for it was now very late, I got to the place; and even then hesitated whether to go in or not. For in the first place, if I came face to face with him I must confess that I had lied, and that the girl had been in that other house even while he visited it. The matter was determined for me, after all. I had got outside the rooms, and was standing there, hesitating what to do, when a man stopped before me, and spoke my name in a surprised voice. It was young Arnold Millard. "Tinman!" Then suddenly and eagerly--"Where's your master?" "Not there, sir," I replied quickly. "I--I don't know where he is." We were standing on the opposite side of the street; he suddenly grasped my arm, and pointed. A window had been opened up above, and leaning out from a lighted room I saw for a moment the head and shoulders of Murray Olivant. The head was withdrawn in a moment, and the window closed and darkened, but we had both seen it distinctly. "Not there?" exclaimed the boy derisively. "So they've told me every time I've inquired. Hiding from me, is he?" He ran across the street, and I ran after him, calling to him to stop. We both reached the stairs together, and together rushed up them; and by that time I had him by the arms, and was clinging to him, imploring him to calm himself. The noise we made when we got to the door of the flat alarmed that respectable manservant inside; he opened the door a little way, and we stumbled in together, brushed him aside, and rushed pell-mell into the room where Murray Olivant stood. And there was not only Olivant there, but the man Dawkins and Jervis Fanshawe. "I've found you at last," cried the boy excitedly. "I want to know where Miss Barbara Savell is?" Murray Olivant looked quickly round from one to the other of us; saw me clinging to the boy, and whispering to him--saw Dawkins and Fanshawe and the manservant. Perhaps he felt that there was safety in numbers; at all events, he retreated to the door of an inner room, and spread his arms across it, as though to guard it. "You fool!" he cried roughly--"she's here!" CHAPTER IX I KNOW THE WAY AT LAST