ery kindly came from Glasgow to see Myra. Mr. Garnesk--Mr. Burnham."

The two shook hands, and the oculist suggested lunch. We left the
station to go up to the hotel, but we saw Hilderman and his newly
arrived friend--the same man who had seen me taking Myra up to
London--walking leisurely up the hill in front of us. Garnesk took my
arm.

"Steady, my boy, steady," he said quietly. "We don't want to be
overheard giving the lie to your dainty conversation of a few minutes
ago. Isn't there anywhere else we can lunch, because they are
evidently on the same tack?"

"Yes," I replied, turning back, "there's the Marine just behind you.
That'll do us well. Then we can come out and talk freely where there's
no chance of our being overheard."

So we lunched at the Marine Hotel, after which we strolled round
the harbour, along the most appalling "road" in the history of
civilisation, popularly and well named "the Kyber." Safely out of
earshot, I made a hurried mental _precis_ of the events of the past
few days, and gave Dennis the resultant summary as tersely as I could.

"I'm very glad you had Mr. Garnesk with you," said Dennis at last,
with a glance of frank admiration at the young specialist.

"Not so glad as I am," I replied fervently. "What I should have done
without him heaven only knows. I can't even guess."

"Oh, nonsense!" cried Garnesk, in modest protest. "I haven't been
able to do anything. Our one advance was a piece of pure luck--the
discovery that Miss McLeod could see by the light of a red lamp. We
have decided to keep that quite to ourselves, Mr. Burnham."

"Of course," agreed Dennis, so emphatically that I laughed.

"Why so decided, Den?" I asked, for I felt that I should like to climb
to the topmost pinnacle of the highest peak in all the world and shout
the good news to the four corners of the earth.

"I'm not a scientist, Ron," Dennis replied. "That may account for the
heresy of my profound disbelief in science. I wouldn't cross the road
to see a 'miracle.' The twentieth century is uncongenial to anything
of that sort. Take it from me, old chap, there's a man at the back of
this--not a nice man, I admit, but an ordinary human being to all
outward appearances--and when we catch a glimpse of his outward
appearances we shall know what to do."

"Yes, _when_ we do," I sighed.

"You mustn't let Ewart get depressed about things, Mr. Burnham. He
very naturally looks at this business from a different standp