eathed until the car was past; and, beside me, my
companion, crouching to the ground, was trembling wildly. Fifty
yards toward the village Mr. Isaacs evidently directed the man to
return.

The car was put about, and flashed past us at high speed down into
the valley. When the sound of the humming motor had died to
something no louder than the buzz of a sleepy wasp, I held out my
hand to Carneta and she rose, pale, but with blazing eyes, and
picked up her camera case.

"If he had detected us, everything would have been lost!" she
whispered.

"Not everything!" I replied grimly--and showed her the revolver
which I had held in my hand whilst those eagle eyes had been
seeking us. "If he had made a sign to show that he had seen us, in
fact, if he had once offered a safe mark by leaning from the car, I
should have shot him dead without hesitation!"

"We must not show ourselves again, but wait for dusk. He must have
seen us, then, on the hilltop, but I hope without recognizing us.
He has the sight and instincts of a vulture!"

I nodded, slipping the revolver into my pocket, but I wondered if I
should not have been better advised to have risked a shot at the
moment that I had recognized "Mr. Isaacs" for Hassan of Aleppo.

CHAPTER XXX

AT THE GATE HOUSE

From sunset to dusk I lurked about the neighbourhood of the Gate
House with my beautiful accomplice--watching and waiting: a man
bound upon stranger business, I dare swear, than any other in the
county of Kent that night.

Our endeavour now was to avoid observation by any one, and in this,
I think, we succeeded. At the same time, Carneta, upon whose
experience I relied implicitly, regarded it as most important that
we should observe (from a safe distance) any one who entered or
quitted the gates.

But none entered, and none came out. When, finally, we made along
the narrow footpath skirting the west of the grounds, the night was
silent--most strangely still.

The trees met overhead, but no rustle disturbed their leaves and of
animal life no indication showed itself. There was no moon.

A full appreciation of my mad folly came to me, and with it a sense
of heavy depression. This stillness that ruled all about the house
which sheltered the awful Sheikh of the Assassins was ominous, I
thought. In short, my nerves were playing me tricks.

"We have little to fear," said my companion, speaking in a hushed
and quivering voice. "The whole of the party