chords from
the piano had deafened her to all other sounds. She played on with every
sign of total unconsciousness.

Forthwith he struck off and blundered senselessly through the forest,
misled by its elusive phantasmagoria, until, realizing at length he did
but duplicate an earlier folly, he gave up the chase in disgust and
slowly made his way back to the bungalow.

And yet (for all the mystery and the wonder of his experience) it was
with a somewhat sheepish feeling that he took the precaution of locking
the doors and windows before turning in. After all, what grounds had he
for his suspicions? Merely a hasty guess at the identity of one who
might turn out to be nothing more than a hapchance tramp--a skulking
vagabond on the watch for a chance to pilfer and fly.

If he were Drummond and as murderous-minded as Ember claimed, why had he
neglected his dozen opportunities to ambush his prey in the woods?

A shade of incredulity insensibly began to color Whitaker's
apprehensions. In time, with impatience, he dismissed them altogether
from his mind.

He dozed off while dwelling upon the vision of a fair-haired woman
idling over a piano, swaying slightly as she played.

XI

THE SPY

Whitaker slept soundly but lightly: the adventures of the evening had
not been so fatiguing as to render his slumbers profound, after three
days of sheer loafing. And he awoke early, roused by a level beam of
blood-red light thrown full upon his face by the rising sun.

He lay for a time languid, watching the incarnadined walls and lazily
examining the curious thrill of interest with which he found himself
anticipating the day to come. It seemed a long time since he had looked
forward to the mere routine of existence with so strong an assurance of
emotional diversion. He idled in whimsical humour with an odd conceit to
the effect that the roots of his soul had somehow been mysteriously
watered, so that it was about to burgeon like a green bay tree--whatever
that might mean. And with this he experienced an exhilarating glow of
well-being that had of late been more a stranger to his body than he
liked to admit.

He wondered why. Was the change in the weather responsible? Or had the
mere act of withdrawing from the world for a little time wrought some
esoteric change in the inscrutable chemistry of his sentiments? Had the
recent innocuous waste of time somehow awakened him to the value of the
mere act of living? Or, again--absur