ee a man," she whispered. "There! He
is behind those far bushes. There is his head again!"

It was clearly a man, but he presently disappeared, for he had come
round by the south end of the House, past the stables, and had now gone
over the ridge.

"The cut of his jib us uncommonly like Loudon, the factor. I thought
McCunn had stretched him on a bed of pain. Lord, if this thing should
turn out a farce, I simply can't face Loudon.... I say, Princess, you
don't suppose by any chance that McCunn's a little bit wrong in the
head?"

She turned her candid eyes on him. "You are in a very doubting mood."

"My feet are cold and I don't mind admittin' it. Hanged if I know what
it is, but I don't feel this show a bit real. If it isn't, we're in a
fair way to make howlin' idiots of ourselves, and get pretty well
embroiled with the law. It's all right for the red-haired boy, for he
can take everything seriously, even play. I could do the same thing
myself when I was a kid. I don't mind runnin' some kind of risk--I've
had a few in my time--but this is so infernally outlandish, and I--I
don't quite believe in it. That is to say, I believe in it right
enough when I look at you or listen to McCunn, but as soon as my eyes
are off you I begin to doubt again. I'm gettin' old and I've a stake
in the country, and I daresay I'm gettin' a bit of a prig--anyway I
don't want to make a jackass of myself. Besides, there's this foul
weather and this beastly house to ice my feet."

He broke off with an exclamation, for on the grey cloud-bounded stage
in which the roof of the Tower was the central feature, actors had
appeared. Dim hurrying shapes showed through the mist, dipping over
the ridge, as if coming from the Garplefoot.

She seized his arm and he saw that her listlessness was gone. Her eyes
were shining.

"It is they," she cried. "The nightmare is real at last. Do you doubt
now?"

He could only stare, for these shapes arriving and vanishing like wisps
of fog still seemed to him phantasmal. The girl held his arm tightly
clutched, and craned towards the window space. He tried to open the
frame, and succeeded in smashing the glass. A swirl of wind drove
inwards and blew a loose lock of Saskia's hair across his brow.

"I wish Dougal were back," he muttered, and then came the crack of a
shot.

The pressure on his arm slackened, and a pale face was turned to him.
"He is alone--Mr. Heritage. He has no chance. They wil