reached softly out from behind a large press, and swallowed and crushed
out the flame. Detricand raised his head quickly, astonished. There was
no wind blowing--the candle had not even flickered when burning. But
then, again, he had not heard a sound; perhaps that was because his foot
was scraping the floor at the moment the light went out. He looked out
of the window, but there was only starlight, and he could not see
distinctly. Turning round he went to the door of the outer hall-way,
opened it, and stepped into the garden. As he did so, a figure slipped
from behind the press in the bedroom, swiftly raised the trap-door in the
flooring, then, shadowed by the door leading into the hall-way, waited
for him.

Presently his footstep was heard. He entered the hall, stood in the
doorway of the bedroom for a moment, while he searched in his pockets for
a light, then stepped inside.

Suddenly his attention was arrested. There was the sound of flowing
water beneath his feet. This could always be heard in his room, but now
how loud it was! Realising that the trap-door must be open, he listened
for a second and was instantly conscious of some one in the room. He
made a step towards the door, but it suddenly closed softly. He moved
swiftly to the window, for the presence was near the door.

What did it mean? Who was it? Was there one, or more? Was murder
intended? The silence, the weirdness, stopped his tongue--besides, what
was the good of crying out? Whatever was to happen would happen at once.
He struck a light, and held it up. As he did so some one or something
rushed at him. What a fool he had been--the light had revealed his
position! But at the same moment came the instinct to throw himself to
one side; which he did as the rush came. In that one flash he had seen