ntacles of this octopus contracting
around their guilty souls, the persons and agencies which they doubt not
are tightening these irresistible coils, foiled, perplexed, and
chagrined, have no well-defined ideas upon the subject.

Neither Sir Donald Randolph nor the London detective agency ever aided,
abetted, or advised this strange proceeding, nor did those employed by
Sir Donald to ferret out Lanier crimes know aught concerning any part of
such proposed move, except that he had interfered to save the lives of
William and Mary Dodge.

To all Sir Donald's inquiries the head of Calcutta police gave no other
answer than, "You just wait awhile."

In fear of they knew not just what, the Laniers fled from Calcutta,
toward no fixed destination, desperately resolved never again to be
taken alive.

CHAPTER XV

THE RETROSPECT

Sir Donald Randolph so forcibly had stated the reasons why Oswald
Langdon should leave Calcutta, that this positive young man could not
procrastinate. He felt that dispatch was duty, and delay criminal. His
movements since return from Himalaya camp had been indiscreet, tending
toward the defeat of justice. He soliloquizes:

"It seems a miraculous intervention which has prevented my recognition
by Pierre and Paul Lanier. How fortunate the meeting with Sir Donald and
Esther! That I ever responded to their questioning looks resulted from
Karl Ludwig's pause, and was contrary to most emphatic resolve, never to
make myself known to either of these friends, until those causing my
troubles are brought to strict account. What other course than that thus
impulsively pursued, could have prevented my being finally discovered by
these crafty wretches, who would not scruple at any villainous scheme to
further self-interest. Esther and Sir Donald fully believe in my
innocence, approving of all conduct since that fateful flight from bank
of the Thames. Thus strangely I have been advised of every fact known by
these friends about this tragedy. My trip to the Himalayas and all
incidents of the past two years were providential. How else possibly
could I have met Karl Ludwig, whose pause and look caused those mutual
recognitions?"

Every detail in Oswald's experiences, from the moment his body pitched
over the bank into Thames current, to present consciousness, passes in
vivid review. Each seems ordered by an overruling, kindly care. This
luminous retrospect widens, until it rests like benediction upon all