ony. And for a moment I believe I had.
But there's no harm done."

"Potting at those flames!" The doctor's voice was almost concerned. Then
he shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, well, there's nothing in it! I must say
I've taken a chance shot now and again at a bird myself from my bedroom
before now. Still, get to bed, Nigel, like a good fellow, and have some
sleep. Here, give me the pistol. You'll be potting at me before I know
where I am. I'll take it into my room, thank you!"

"Right you are!" Merriton's laugh rang more normally and the doctor
nodded with pleasure. "Good-night, Doctor."

"Good-night."

Then the door closed again, and the house dropped once more into
stillness. In ten minutes Merriton tumbled into bed. He slept like a
log.... He hadn't seen the doctor drop that sleeping draught into that
last whisky while Tony West kept him talking. That was why he slept.

Later on, however, his shame at his own foolishness in firing his pistol
at mere flames of the night was the cause of grave difficulty. For when
he related the story of the whole affair to Cleek's master mind he _left
that out_! And very nearly was it his own undoing, for strange was to be
the outcome of that shot in the night.

CHAPTER VII

THE WATCHER IN THE SHADOW

But if Merriton slept, the others of the little party did not. After his
door had closed upon him they appeared from their rooms, and met by
arrangement once more in the study. Doctor Bartholomew--a little late at
having waited and listened for the outward result of his drug in Nigel's
comforting snore--joined the group with an anxious face. There was no
laughter now in the pleasant, heated smoking room. Every face there wore
a look that bordered closely upon fear.

"Well, Doctor," said Tony West, as he entered the room, "what's the plan?
I don't like Wynne's absence, I swear I don't. It--it looks fishy,
somehow. And he was in no mood to play boyish pranks on us by turnin' in
at the Brelliers' place. There's somethin' else afoot. What's your idea,
now?"

The doctor considered a moment.

"Better be getting out and form a search party," he said quietly. "If
nothing turns up--well, Nigel needn't know we've been out. But--there's
more in this than meets the eye, boys. Frankly, I don't like it. Wynne's
a brute, but he never liked practical joking. It's my private opinion
that he would have returned by now--if something hadn't happened to him.
We'll wait till dawn, and then w