His eyes were small and set close
to his nose, and his upper teeth habitually showed, like a wolf's. A
heavy scowl sat upon his features from his present ill humour. The
watcher at the keyhole felt a great wave of repulsion surge over him as
he beheld this being in the shape of man, and unconsciously his heart
hardened. Nothing was visible of the second occupant of the room except
the toe of one shoe, which kept up an incessant tattoo on the worn
carpet. Two minutes passed, and Glenning noted that the figure fronting
him was growing restless. The frown on his low forehead deepened into
threatening furrows and he began to strike his boots with the whip he
carried. Suddenly he sat upright.

"Out with it, man!" he hissed. "Don't dally here till the morning's
gone! Are you going to do it or not?"

The tattoo ceased, and the foot was withdrawn from view. Then its owner
came within the radius of the little circle formed by the keyhole. He
walked straight to the burly figure in the chair, and bent down to
whisper his decision. The man on watch could only see his back. He was a
low, thin person, wearing a brown checked suit. Glenning swiftly put his
ear to the little opening, and listened with the greatest intensity. It
was of the utmost importance that he should hear the outcome of the
plot. But only elusive murmurs reached him, and not a word could he
hear. Observation was his second chance; the only one left. Again he
brought his eye to bear. Both men were standing now, close together.
They had come to a satisfactory understanding, for the heavy man's face
had lightened, and he had one hand laid in a confiding way upon the
shoulder of his confederate. Then they passed from the room, whispering
as they went.

Glenning got onto his feet, found a chair, and sat down. Of one thing
only was he sure--there was work before him. The rest was dark, but
plain ahead lay his duty. The Dudleys must know of all that had passed
in the next room. The one called Marston had spoken of poison and of
fire. Then the burning of the stable had been the work of an incendiary.
He was exerting every malign effort to get rid of Dudley's horse. The
third trial was to occur that night. John got up and looked at his
watch. It was after eleven. Major Dudley had said in his note that he
would call in the afternoon. But he might not come till late, and
something might happen whereby he could not come at all. The matter was
most urgent and vital, admitti