the drawing-room was
empty. The French window was open an inch or so, and I could hear a
clock ticking as clear as a bell. Then Mr. Tudor toddled up, and I hid
in the servants' doorway. Mr. Tudor went in by the other door, and out I
popped again to my post. I see my gentleman stamping about and calling
"Camilla! Camilla!" fit to burst. No answer. Then he picks up a
photograph off a table and kisses it smack--twice.'

Camilla stirred behind the curtain.

'Then he goes into another room,' proceeded Albert Shawn, 'and lo and
behold! another man comes from round the corner of a screen--a man much
older than Mr. Tudor! And Mr. Tudor runs in again, and these two
meet--these two do. And they stare at each other, and Mr. Tudor says,
"Hullo, Louis--"'

'I knew it!' The cry came from Camilla within the dome.

'What?' demanded Hugo, turning to her and ignoring Shawn.

'It was Louis Ravengar whom I saw hiding behind the door. I felt all the
time that it was he!'

And she put her hands to her face.

'Ravengar!' He was astounded to hear that name. What had she, what had
Tudor, to do with Ravengar?

'That was why I thought _you_ were in the plot, Mr. Hugo,' she added.

'Me? Why?'

'Can you ask?'

Her eyes met his, and it was his that fell.

'I have no relations whatever with Ravengar, I assure you,' he said
gravely. 'But, by the dagger! I'll see this affair to the end.' 'By the
dagger' was a form of oath, meaningless yet terrible in sound, which
Hugo employed only on the greatest occasions. He turned sharply to the
window. 'Anything else, Shawn?'

'There was a gust of wind that shut the blessed window, sir. I couldn't
hear any more, so I came to report.'

'Go to the front entrance of the flat instantly,' Hugo ordered him. 'I
will watch the balcony.'

'Yes, sir.'

Camilla was crouching in the embrasure of the window. Her body seemed to
shake.

'There is nothing to fear,' Hugo soothed her. 'Stay here till I return.'
And he snatched up the revolver.

'No,' she said, straightening herself; 'I must go with you.'

'Better not.'

'I must go with you,' she repeated.

They passed together along the railed edge of the court of fountains
under the stars, skirted the gay and melodious garden behind the trees
in their huge wooden boxes, and so came to a second quadrangle, upon
whose highest story the windows of Tudor's flat gave. Descending a
stairway of forged iron to the balcony, they crept forward in silence to
th