He came towards me, edging along the wall of the passage until he could lay his hand upon mine and grip me. "Didn't you hear what she said?" he whispered. "He's up there--waiting for us! Don't you understand, you fool, that he'd come quicker than we could; didn't you think of that?" The sheer terror in the man's face unnerved me; I found myself gripping him, as if I, too, had suddenly grown afraid. "What the devil do you mean?" I whispered. "It's some chance caller. Don't be a fool!" I was shaken to my very soul; but I went on up the stairs, looking back, to find him following more slowly. I saw that he was ready, at a chance word or gesture, to go tumbling down the stairs again, and screaming out into the night. I hesitated for a moment at the door of the room, and opened it, and went in. Standing before the cheerless hearth was the man Dawkins. I glanced over my shoulder, to see a ghastly face coming round the door--a face that changed in a moment from terror to relief--from relief to a sort of childish rage. Jervis Fanshawe came into the room a little blusteringly, and scowled at the visitor. "What do you want here at this time of night?" he demanded. "Startling people--and making them think---- What do you want?" Dawkins stared at this hitherto humble man in some amazement. "Don't be insolent," he said at last. "I want to find Murray Olivant." "What do you want with him?" snapped Jervis Fanshawe, before I could say a word. "And why do you seek him here?" "Because I can't find him at his rooms," retorted Dawkins. "The place is shut up, and apparently deserted; even his servant has gone. What's the mystery?" "There is no mystery," I said slowly. "Mr. Murray Olivant has gone on a voyage----" "Yes, yes; on a voyage," corroborated Fanshawe eagerly. "That's true enough." "He sails to-morrow on the _Eaglet_, bound for the Mediterranean," I went on. "I am to join him--to sail with him." "Strange that I've heard nothing about it," muttered Dawkins, looking from one to the other of us. "I think I can guess what has happened, however; our friend has got hold of the girl, and is slipping away quietly with her--eh?" "I couldn't say," said Fanshawe. "In any case, I wouldn't trouble about it, if I were you; it's not worth while." "I'm not so sure of that," said Dawkins, with a grin. "Murray Olivant mustn't imagine for a moment that he is going to use me as he likes, and then fling me aside, without so much as a 'Thank you.' I don't believe in this sailing business; I don't believe he's going at all. There's some trick in this." "There's no trick," exclaimed Fanshawe eagerly. "He sails to-morrow, and Tinman here goes with him."