ed the opening. Had I fired then I could not have
missed my aim, but the opportunity was so complete it seemed murderous.
The fellow paused in the doorway and seemed to listen or look for
something in the hall or rooms beyond.

I tried to speak, but my throat only responded with a dry click. When
at last I controlled my voice its utterance was a harsh whisper,

"Stop where you are, or I'll fire! Don't turn or move a muscle! I have
you covered with a revolver."

The figure in the doorway started convulsively, but made no other
motion, and for a moment everything was so still I could hear my watch
ticking. Then I heard the man say,

"Don't shoot, Mr. Wainwright. I'm going to face you."

My heart almost stopped beating as I recognised the voice, but the
horror of the situation did not burst upon me until Josiah Bateman
turned and stood before me under the glare of the flaring lamp.

For a moment neither of us spoke, but I noticed the haggard look of the
man, the unkempt condition of his grey hair, and his soiled and tattered
clothing.

There was no doubt that the living man stood before me, but everything
about him breathed a horrid suggestiveness. At last I motioned to a seat
and addressed him.

"What does this mean?"

The old man smiled wearily, but his voice was much the same as usual.

"I'm afraid I've given you a scare, without intending it, Mr.
Wainwright. I owe you an apology. But you were plucky, Sir, and I--well,
I took some risks too."

"What does all this mean?" I repeated, with some annoyance in my tone.

"It's hard to tell in a few words, Mr. Wainwright, but I haven't risen
from the dead. Yes, I see you looking at my clothes, but I haven't been
inside a grave, and no undertaker has handled me yet."

"Don't you think we've had enough of mysteries, Mr. Bateman?" I inquired
impatiently.

"Surely--surely," replied the old man, "but I want to give you time to
recover yourself and----"

"I have quite recovered, thank you."

"Everything but your temper, Mr. Wainwright, everything but your temper.
You need to have that in hand before giving me advice."

"You seek a strange hour for consultation, Mr. Bateman. Allow me to
suggest an appointment for to-morrow morning."

"No time like the present, Mr. Wainwright. I might say no time except
the present. But while we are talking of time we waste it."

Mr. Bateman's manner was usually abrupt, almost brusque, and his present
oily tone had a peculiar me