Mr. Smith's face fell considerably. "But--what is he doing down here?" he inquired. "Who's he after? _Surely_ not Sir Adam?" "No, not Sir Adam. He is after some criminal who--who does not exist in the place at all," added Karl, not choosing to be more explicit, considering that it was the man before him whom he had suspected of being the said criminal, and feeling ashamed of his suspicions now that they were dispelled, and he had to speak of it with him face to face. "The danger is, that in looking after one man the police may come upon the track of another." The agent nodded his head. "But surely they do not suspect the Maze?" "They do suspect the Maze," replied Karl. "Owing to the tattling of the woman Mr. Moore took there--Nurse Chaffen--they suspect it." Mr. Smith allowed a very unorthodox word to issue through his closed teeth, applied not only to the lady in question, but to ladies in general. "The man Strange has been down here looking after some one whom he can't find; who no doubt is not in the neighbourhood at all, and never has been," resumed Karl. "Strange's opinion, however, was--and is--that the man is here, concealed. When he heard Chaffen's tale of the gentleman she saw in evening dress at the Maze, but whom she never saw again and therefore concluded he was hidden somewhere about the house not to show himself to her, he caught up the notion that it was the man he was after. Hence his suspicions of the Maze, and his watchings." "It's a very unfortunate thing!" breathed the agent. "You see now, Mr. Smith, how much better it would have been if Sir Adam had never come here. Or, being here, if he had been allowed to go away again." "He can't attempt it now," was the quiet retort of the agent. "With a detective's eyes about, it would be only to walk straight into the lion's mouth." "Just so. We all know that." "I wish to heaven I _could_ get him away!" spoke the agent impulsively, and it was evident that his heart was in his words. "Until now I believed he was as safe here as he could be elsewhere--or safer. What the devil brings a confounded detective in this quiet place? The malignant fiend, or some implacable fate must have sent him. Sir Karl, the danger is great. We must not shut our eyes to it." Alas, Karl Andinnian felt that, in a more cruel degree than the agent could. It was _his_ work; it was he who had brought this hornet's nest about his unfortunate brother's head. The consciousness of it lay heavily upon him in that moment; throat and tongue and lips were alike parched with the fever of remorse. "May I ask you for a glass of water, Mr. Smith?" broke next from the said dry lips. "I'll get it for you in a moment, sir," said the agent, rising with alacrity.