clouds were driven furiously across the sky, torrents of rain and spray
beat every now and then upon the window. He turned back and examined
the carriage lamp.

"It is an awful night," I said. "I cannot offer you a bed unless you
will take mine, but I can bring rugs and a pillow to the fire if you
will lie there."

Then for the only time in my life I saw him hesitate. He looked out of
my uncurtained window into the night. Very often have I wondered what
thought it was that passed then through his brain.

"I thank you," he said; "the walk is nothing, and they will expect me at
Rowchester. You have pencil and paper. Write down what I tell
you.--Colonel Mostyn Ray, No. 17, Sussex Square. You have that? Good!
It is my address. Presently I think you will get tired of your life
here. Come then to me. I may be able to show you the way--"

"Out of the conservatory," I interrupted, smiling.

He nodded, and took up the lantern. To my surprise, he did not offer to
shake hands. Without another word he passed out into the darkness.

In my dreams that night I fancied that a strange cry came ringing to my
ears from the marshes--a long-drawn-out cry of terror, ending in a sob.
I was weary, and I turned on my side again and slept.



CHAPTER III