eemed impossible that her story could be
true, and yet I knew her well enough by this time to feel sure that she
would not lie to me. But for such a man as Pharos to exist in this
prosaic nineteenth century, and stranger still, for me, Cyril Forrester,
who had always prided myself on my clearness of head, to believe in him,
was absurd. That I was beginning to do so was, in a certain sense, only
too true. I was resolved, however, that, happen what might in the
future, I would keep my wits about me and endeavour to outwit him, not
only for my own sake, but for that of the woman I loved, whom I could
not induce to seek refuge in flight while she had the opportunity.

During the afternoon I saw nothing of Pharos. He kept himself closely
shut up in his own apartment and was seen only by that same impassive
man-servant I have elsewhere described. The day, however, was not
destined to go by without my coming in contact with him. The Fraeulein
Valerie and I had spent the evening in the cool hall of the hotel, but
being tired she had bidden me good-night and gone to her room at an
early hour. Scarcely knowing what to do with myself, I was making my way
upstairs to my room, when the door of Pharos's apartment opened and to
my surprise the old man emerged. He was dressed for going out--that is
to say, he wore his long fur coat and curious cap. On seeing him I
stepped back into the shadow of the doorway, and was fortunate enough to
be able to do so before he became aware of my presence. As soon as he
had passed I went to the balustrading and watched him go down the
stairs, wondering as I did so what was taking him from home at such a
late hour. The more I thought of it the more inquisitive I became. A
great temptation seized me to follow him and find out. Being unable to
resist it, I went to my room, found my hat, slipped a revolver into my
pocket, in case I might want it, and set off after him.

On reaching the great hall, I was just in time to see him step into a
carriage, which had evidently been ordered for him beforehand. The
driver cracked his whip, the horses started off, and, by the time I
stood in the porch, the carriage was a good distance down the street.

"Has my friend gone?" I cried to the porter, as if I had hastened
downstairs in the hope of seeing him before he left. "I had changed my
mind and intended accompanying him. Call me a cab as quickly as you
can."

One of the neat little victorias which ply in the stre