of the lamps suspended from the roof. There was no sign of life. The
place seemed deserted.

Paul waited for a long time listening. No sound came from the cave. It
was as silent as the tomb. But as he listened, he thought that he could
again hear the sound of a light step behind him, coming along the path
he had travelled.

Was it possible that some one else had entered the tunnel? Surely the
master had not again followed unconsciously in his footsteps? Paul
turned his head and listened, but it was as silent in that direction as
the other.

"I'm getting as nervous as a kitten," he laughed to himself. "My ears
have again deceived me."

No one appeared to be in the cave. Mr. Moncrief had said in his letter
that he knew about Zuker's movements. Could it have been that he had
been arrested? It was just possible. Anyhow, he would like to have a
nearer view of the cave. There could be no danger, and if there were, it
was worth the risk.

So Paul rose from his hiding-place behind the curtain, and stepped
cautiously into the cave. The guns and cutlasses were still hanging on
the wall, but the models and designs had gone, and the photographic
camera had gone from its niche.

There was a passage on the other side of the chamber similar to the one
through which he had come.

"Where does that lead to, I wonder?" thought Paul.

There could be no harm in exploring it a little way. He might just as
well know where it led to, if it were possible to find out. The
information might be useful. Paul was animated with the adventurous
spirit of the explorer, which knows no rest until it is satisfied. He
crossed to the opening. At the moment he reached it, a figure emerged
from the darkness, and confronted him. It was Zuker.

It was so sudden, so unexpected, that Paul could not move. He stood
there as one rooted to the spot. Before he could move, the man had
sprung upon him with the swiftness of a tiger, and seizing him by the
throat, dragged him to the light.

"You!" he cried. "The boy from Garside. Your name is----"

"Paul Percival," gasped Paul, as the fierce grip relaxed.

"Paul Percival. _Ach Himmel!_ It is Fate itself."

He had in turn shrunk back, as though Paul were no longer a being of
flesh and blood, but a phantom. Then he murmured hoarsely to himself:
"Weevil was right. The hand of a Higher than man is in it."

In the uncertain light he had not at first recognized Paul; but now he
saw him, and knew that just as