was, at once, made easy for him.

[Illustration: "HIS HAND CLOSED OVER IT."]

His eyes lighted on a dark object, which he knew at once must be what he
was in search of, lying on the white toilet cover of the dressing-table.
His hand closed over it, his eyes turning once more towards the bed. Not
a movement, not a sound!

Pocket-book in hand, he noiselessly crept out, locked the door on the
outside again, and sped back to his own room.

Half the danger was over. He had now but to abstract the money he
wanted, and replace the book where he had found it. He put the book on
the table, and sat down.

"What was that? A sigh--a whispered word? Or was it coward conscience?"
He sat back aghast for a moment; then, with a resolute face, bent
forward, laying his hand upon the book. Suddenly he paused, raising his
head again. A sound--a movement? Surely he heard something! He hurriedly
blew out the light, and sat with all his senses on the alert. Again!
Something or someone was in the room!

Meredith! Had Meredith seen and followed him--had the time come to act
the part of jester? Unconsciously, he was gazing straight before him
into the dressing glass, faintly reflecting, in the pale, grey light of
the summer night, the objects around. Again a slight movement, hardly
displacement, of the air; but sufficient to intimate a presence there.

Should he break into a laugh, and challenge Meredith--should he----Great
heavens! Mirrored in the glass, he saw a shadowy form moving silently
towards him--a form draped in cowl and gown. The monk!

Laurence Verschoyle fell back in his chair, his eyes fastened upon the
figure faintly outlined in the dim light, the left hand raised, as if in
solemn warning, and the right stretched forth towards--the pocket-book!

He saw it taken from the table, then everything faded from his vision,
and he lost consciousness.

When, at length, he came to himself, it was a little confusedly; and it
was some time before he remembered where he was and what had happened.
The pocket-book! His eyes went hurriedly over the table. Gone! It had
been no dream, then--no trick of the senses. He flung out his arms upon
the table and buried his face upon them. Suddenly a faint hope sprang up
in his heart. It must have been Meredith! His own fears, and the dim,
uncertain light, had imparted the spectral, shadowy appearance, and
exaggerated the whole effect. Meredith must have imagined--as in case of
emergency he was to