As he spoke Brettison walked by his side, and tried to edge him away from the light, speaking in quite a whisper the while, as if afraid that their voices might reach the occupant of the cottage. And meanwhile Stratton was still debating within himself as to whether he should tell his companion of the startling adventure he had had. But feeling more and more that the idea was only coloured by his imagination, and knowing in his heart that the old man would smile and point out the impossibility of such an encounter, he determined to be silent till the morning--if he could not learn anything about any visitors who might be staying there. Twice over as they walked he was on the point of speaking, but checked himself, and then the opportunity was gone, for Brettison held out his hand. "Good-night, my boy," he said; "you are tired. There, go to the inn and have a good night's rest." "One moment, Brettison," said Stratton, arresting him. "You do not think it possible that--" He stopped short: he could not say it. The idea was absurd. "Well, think what possible?" said Brettison, smiling. "That he is likely to turn dangerous?" "I have no fear of him whatever," said the old man. "There, don't fidget; good-night." Stratton went on to the inn, wishing that he had spoken to Brettison, after all; and he had hardly taken his seat before he sprang up again to go back to him. Before starting he summoned the landlady to question her about visitors to the place, but only to find in a few minutes that her knowledge was confined to those who came to her hotel. There were people who let their houses and took in lodgers, she knew--yes, but she had no patience with people who played at keeping an hotel. Stratton went out once more into the night with the intention of going straight to Brettison, telling him his suspicions, and asking his advice; but he shrank from the task; and on the impulse of the moment turned off to go and explore the village on the chance of happening upon something which would give him a clue. Five minutes devoted to his task was sufficient to satisfy him of the hopelessness of the task, and he returned to the inn agitated, weary, and trying to make some plan as to his proceedings as soon as it was light. "The post!" he said to himself. He would be able to learn there; and half disposed to hire some vehicle and go across ten miles to the town, he entered the doorway, to start once more, this time with a thrill of certainty. For, as he advanced, he saw at the end of the passage a man in conversation with the landlady. He was making inquiries about a boat for a sail next day. The next minute he turned to leave, and came face to face with Guest. "Great Heavens!" cried the latter hoarsely; "you or your ghost. O Mal, old man, if it is you how could you be so mad?" "Mad? Mad?" stammered Stratton. "What do you mean?" "Why, as to follow me?" "I--I did not know you were here."