and do if he knew that his wife had given up her bedroom to this
stranger? What complications might arise IF HE KNEW!

It was late--past midnight--when Carrigan went to bed. Even then he did
not sleep for a long time. The patter of the rain grew less and less on
the roof of the bateau, and as the sound of it droned itself off into
nothingness, slumber came. David was conscious of the moment when the
rain ceased entirely. Then he slept. At least he must have been very
close to sleep, or had been asleep and was returning for a moment close
to consciousness, when he heard a voice. It came several times before
he was roused enough to realize that it was a voice. And then,
suddenly, piercing his slowly wakening brain almost with the shock of
one of the thunder crashes, it came to him so distinctly that he found
himself sitting up straight, his hands clenched, eyes staring in the
darkness, waiting for it to come again.

Somewhere very near him, in his room, within the reach of his hands, a
strange and indescribable voice had cried out in the darkness the words
which twice before had beat themselves mysteriously into David
Carrigan's brain--"HAS ANY ONE SEEN BLACK ROGER AUDEMARD? HAS ANY ONE
SEEN BLACK ROGER AUDEMARD?"

And David, holding his breath, listened for the sound of another breath
which he knew was in that room.

IX

For perhaps a minute Carrigan made no sound that could have been heard
three feet away from him. It was not fear that held him quiet. It was
something which he could not explain afterward, the sensation, perhaps,
of one who feels himself confronted for a moment by a presence more
potent than that of flesh and blood. BLACK ROGER AUDEMARD! Three times,
twice in his sickness, some one had cried out that name in his ears
since the hour when St. Pierre's wife had ambushed him on the white
carpet of sand. And the voice was now in his room!

Was it Bateese, inspired by some sort of malformed humor? Carrigan
listened. Another minute passed. He reached out a hand and groped about
him, very careful not to make a sound, urged by the feeling that some
one was almost within reach of him. He flung back his blanket and stood
out in the middle of the floor.

Still he heard no movement, no soft footfalls of retreat or advance. He
lighted a match and held it high above his head. In its yellow
illumination he could see nothing alive. He lighted a lamp. The cabin
was empty. He drew a deep breath and went t