ous--at once elaborate and
simple, was put into execution in the dusk of the evening.

London remained in the grip of fog, and when we passed along the
corridor communicating with our apartments, faint streaks of yellow
vapor showed in the light of the lamp suspended at the further end.
I knew that Nayland Smith suspected the presence of some spying
contrivance in our rooms, although I was unable to conjecture how this
could have been managed without the connivance of the management. In
pursuance of his idea, however, he extinguished the lights a moment
before we actually quitted the suite. Just within the door he helped
me to remove the somewhat conspicuous check traveling-coat which I
wore. With this upon his arm he opened the door and stepped out into
the corridor.

As the door slammed upon his exit, I heard him cry: "Come along,
Petrie! we have barely five minutes to catch our train."

Detective Carter of New Scotland Yard had joined him at the threshold,
and muffled up in the gray traveling-coat was now hurrying with Smith
along the corridor and out of the hotel. Carter, in build and features,
was not unlike me, and I did not doubt that any one who might be
spying upon our movements would be deceived by this device.

In the darkness of the apartment I stood listening to the retreating
footsteps in the corridor. A sense of loneliness and danger assailed
me. I knew that Inspector Weymouth was watching and listening from the
room immediately opposite; that he held Smith's key; that I could
summon him to my assistance, if necessary, in a matter of seconds.

Yet, contemplating the vigil that lay before me in silence and
darkness, I cannot pretend that my frame of mind was buoyant. I could
not smoke; I must make no sound.

As pre-arranged, I cautiously removed my boots, and as cautiously
tiptoed across the carpet and seated myself in an arm-chair. I
determined there to await the arrival of Mr. Jonathan Martin's friend,
which I knew could not now be long delayed.

The clocks were striking eleven when he arrived, and in the perfect
stillness of that upper corridor. I heard the bustle which heralded
his approach, heard the rap upon the door opposite, followed by a
muffled "Come in" from Weymouth. Then, as the door was opened, I heard
the sound of a wheezy cough.

A strange cracked voice (which, nevertheless, I recognized for Smith's)
cried, "Hullo, Martin!--cough no better?"

Upon that the door was closed again,