ephone, but since he had left a message for his father, he knew
that the latter would ring him up directly he returned.

Work, he thought, should be the likeliest antidote to the poisonous
thoughts which oppressed his mind, and again he seated himself at the
table and opened his notes before him. The silken rope lay close to
his left hand, but he did not touch it. He was about to switch on the
reading lamp, for it was now too dark to write, when his mind wandered
off along another channel of reflection. He found himself picturing
Myra as she had looked the last time that he had seen her.

She was seated in Mr. Saunderson's garden, still pale from her
dreadful illness, but beautiful--more beautiful in the eyes of Robert
Cairn than any other woman in the world. The breeze was blowing her
rebellious curls across her eyes--eyes bright with a happiness which
he loved to see.

Her cheeks were paler than they were wont to be, and the sweet lips
had lost something of their firmness. She wore a short cloak, and a
wide-brimmed hat, unfashionable, but becoming. No one but Myra could
successfully have worn that hat, he thought.

Wrapt in such lover-like memories, he forgot that he had sat down to
write--forgot that he held a pen in his hand--and that this same hand
had been outstretched to ignite the lamp.

When he ultimately awoke again to the hard facts of his lonely
environment, he also awoke to a singular circumstance; he made the
acquaintance of a strange phenomenon.

He had been writing unconsciously!

And this was what he had written:

"Robert Cairn--renounce your pursuit of me, and renounce Myra; or
to-night--" The sentence was unfinished.

Momentarily, he stared at the words, endeavouring to persuade himself
that he had written them consciously, in idle mood. But some voice
within gave him the lie; so that with a suppressed groan he muttered
aloud:

"It has begun!"

Almost as he spoke there came a sound, from the passage outside, that
led him to slide his hand across the table--and to seize his revolver.

The visible presence of the little weapon reassured him; and, as a
further sedative, he resorted to tobacco, filled and lighted his pipe,
and leant back in the chair, blowing smoke rings towards the closed
door.

He listened intently--and heard the sound again.

It was a soft _hiss_!

And now, he thought he could detect another noise--as of some creature
dragging its body along the floor.

"A lizard!