While the man dressed as a costermonger--or perhaps he was a real costermonger--remained near the exit to the Yard ready to give warning of anyone approaching, the man in evening clothes slowly re-passed me, while at the same time the watcher at the gate came forward in his direction. When not far from me he halted and struck a vesta in order to light a cigarette. The fickle flame betrayed his countenance. It was the man John Parham, the person believed by his wife to be in India. What was contemplated? The four-wheeled cab was still in waiting in the little open space which divides Dean's Yard from Victoria Street, while the exit to Great College Street was being watched, and the thin-faced man lurked there ready for Sybil's arrival. Within myself I smiled to think that all their elaborate arrangements were futile, and wondered if Parham was the man who signed himself "White Feather?" In that fellow's house were the fatal stairs, therefore if I followed him I should now be enabled to fix the actual place to which I had, on that never-to-be-forgotten night, been enticed. While the costermonger remained on vigil, Parham and his companion passed and re-passed, but still without acknowledging each other. Once the costermonger suddenly began to whistle a popular music-hall air, and turning I saw that it was a preconcerted signal. A man had entered the Yard from Great College Street and was crossing to where Parham was standing. For fully three-quarters of an hour they waited patiently until ten o'clock struck. Then Parham approached his companion, and they stood in earnest conversation. Almost at the same moment a female figure in deep black came swiftly through the gateway into the Yard, causing both to start quickly and draw back. Next instant, however, Parham started off briskly, walking past me to where the costermonger was standing, while his thin-faced accomplice slipped past the newcomer and disappeared into Victoria Street. It was evident that the woman's appearance had instantly upset all their calculations. The newcomer stopped, glanced around and strained her eyes into the darkness. She wore a close black hat, a long mackintosh, and carried an umbrella, yet so swiftly had Parham disappeared that she had not noticed his presence in the Yard, while the other man had so cleverly slipped past her and out through the gateway that she had not seen his face. For a few moments she stood expectant. I could see that she had hurried, in fear of being too late. Then, as she approached me, I discerned that she was the girl O'Hara. And of her, Parham and his lurking accomplices were evidently in fear, as they separated and disappeared. I watched her standing there and wondered why she had come. Was it in order to save Sybil from some plot that had been prepared for her? Was it their intention to take her to that dark, mysterious house with the fatal stairs?