"Under those circumstances," he answered steadily, "I can assure you
that I have not the slightest intention of moving. Who are you, and
what do you want with me?"

A hard little laugh. Again the click of a revolver.

"I want from you several things. First of all, and most important, the
address of the writer of that letter which you have just been reading."

"That's precisely," Douglas said, "what I should like to know myself.
The lady does not give it."

"You are very near death, Douglas Guest. Her address?

"I am not in the habit of swearing," Douglas answered, "but upon my oath
it is not in this letter. Upon my oath I do not know it."

He caught the sound of a sob, but when he would have turned his head
there came again the sharp click of the revolver and an angry
exclamation from his unseen adversary.

"Stand as you are. If by chance you should see my face I will shoot
you. I have killed men before, and I have no love for you."

Then Douglas knew that his assailant, if not a lunatic, was surely
verging upon madness. He looked towards the door--the distance was too
far. No answer occurred to him which seemed discreet, so he remained
silent.

"As to her state of health, Douglas Guest. She has been ill."

"I know nothing save that she is better."

"Have you seen her since?"

"You were with her when she was taken ill?"

"I was," Douglas answered.

"You know the circumstances?"

"I know," Douglas said, "that she was the victim of a cowardly and
infamous attempt at assassination."

There came a mocking little laugh. Douglas never turned his head, but
he felt instinctively that his life was in danger--that a finger was
laid upon the trigger of that revolver.

"You are a brave man, Douglas Guest."

"Braver at least," Douglas answered, "than the man who shoots at women
and runs away."

There was the sound of a scornful laugh, a step upon the floor. His
unbidden guest was coming from out of the shadows.

"You need fear no longer. I am known to you, I see. I have put my
revolver away. You and I will talk for a while."

Douglas turned round with a little breath of relief. Yes, it was the
man whom he had expected to see, pale as death, with sunken eyes
encircled with deep, black lines, one little spot of colour flaring on
his cheeks, shabbily dressed, yet carrying in his personality still the
traces of refinement. He dropped into the one easy chair, and Douglas
watched him half fascinated.

"You ha