e for the better part of half-an-hour about the maps I had
brought.

He had the formation of the country and its industries at his fingers'
ends, and he spoke like a man who had gained his information at
first-hand. I listened attentively, for I guessed in some queer fashion
of my own that the maps and that foolish cryptogram, the shooting on the
beach and the piece of driftwood were all somehow connected. But either
I must have missed some very obvious point or else he picked his words
so carefully that he misled me.

I used my eyes for all they were worth, which wasn't much. The
typewriter stood on the table in its old position, and the table itself
was littered with sheets of typed figures. "More timber measurements," I
said to myself. Somehow the sight of those sheets troubled me. They were
innocent-looking enough in all conscience, and I couldn't for the life
of me understand why they should have this peculiar effect on me. I felt
as if a cold gust of wind, the icy breath of Death himself, had passed
and touched me in the passing. I flatter myself that I have pretty
strong nerves--the Lord knows they've been tested often enough--but
there was something in the atmosphere of that room, something in the
sight of those littered sheets of paper, that sent a cold shiver through
me, that made me want to rush from the place into the golden sunshine
out of doors. It was a presentiment, but one that could not be
localised. It did not appear to be one that could be shared either, for
Bryce still talked on in his own quaint way, apparently unaffected by
the strange influence which so troubled me.

At last he rose and proceeded to gather up the disordered papers on the
table. I rose too, and with a careless "So long," was making for the
door when he stopped me with a question.

"I suppose," he asked, "that you haven't seen anything lately of our
inquisitive friends?"

"The Roman sentry and the gentleman with the hardware and the smashed
wrist?" I answered his question with one of mine.

He smiled at my description and the laughter-lines about his mouth
creased into a myriad wrinkles. "You have them exactly," he remarked.

"No, I haven't seen them," I said. "They seem to have disappeared into
nothingness."

Curiously enough the news, instead of pleasing, seemed to disappoint
him. "They evidently mean business," he said in a semi-undertone. It
seemed almost as if he was speaking his thoughts out aloud.

He glanced up a