g of
revenge."

Eustace Borlsover would not leave his room, but he thought that there
might be something in Saunders's suggestion to leave Brighton without
notice. He began rapidly to regain his strength.

"We'll go on the first of September," he said.

* * * * *

The evening of August 31st was oppressively warm. Though at midday the
windows had been wide open, they had been shut an hour or so before
dusk. Mrs. Prince had long since ceased to wonder at the strange habits
of the gentlemen on the first floor. Soon after their arrival she had
been told to take down the heavy window curtains in the two bedrooms,
and day by day the rooms had seemed to grow more bare. Nothing was left
lying about.

"Mr. Borlsover doesn't like to have any place where dirt can collect,"
Saunders had said as an excuse. "He likes to see into all the corners of
the room."

"Couldn't I open the window just a little?" he said to Eustace that
evening. "We're simply roasting in here, you know."

"No, leave well alone. We're not a couple of boarding-school misses
fresh from a course of hygiene lectures. Get the chessboard out."

They sat down and played. At ten o'clock Mrs. Prince came to the door
with a note. "I am sorry I didn't bring it before," she said, "but it
was left in the letter-box."

"Open it, Saunders, and see if it wants answering."

It was very brief. There was neither address nor signature.

"Will eleven o'clock to-night be suitable for our last appointment?"

"Who is it from?" asked Borlsover.

"It was meant for me," said Saunders. "There's no answer, Mrs. Prince,"
and he put the paper into his pocket. "A dunning letter from a tailor; I
suppose he must have got wind of our leaving."

It was a clever lie, and Eustace asked no more questions. They went on
with their game.

On the landing outside Saunders could hear the grandfather's clock
whispering the seconds, blurting out the quarter-hours.

"Check!" said Eustace. The clock struck eleven. At the same time there
was a gentle knocking on the door; it seemed to come from the bottom
panel.

"Who's there?" asked Eustace.

There was no answer.

"Mrs. Prince, is that you?"

"She is up above," said Saunders; "I can hear her walking about the
room."

"Then lock the door; bolt it too. Your move, Saunders."

While Saunders sat with his eyes on the chessboard, Eustace walked over
to the window and examined the fastenings. He did the