est."

Fandor was not going to own that he knew there was danger; but he was
keenly set on running this particular risk, for, by so doing, might he
not discover the truth?

When the bankers left him for the night, Fandor again examined every
corner of the room, and all it contained. He tested the electric light
switch; he took a mental photograph of the situation of the pieces of
furniture. He got into bed, half dressed, and lay quietly, grasping his
revolver, fully loaded.

He switched off the light, and in that large room, veiled in darkness,
he awaited the events of the night. Noises from the street reached him
indistinctly. The silence about him was menacing: something was going to
happen here, something sudden, unforeseen, perhaps irremediable.

Minute by minute, time went by, interminable, monotonous, casting a soft
veil of sleep over the eyes of Fandor. But thoughts were rising within
him: more and more keenly he was realising the horrible danger he was
exposing himself to. Beneath closed eyes his brain was active, his
imagination afire.

"Elizabeth Dollon must be avenged," was his persistent thought.
"Consequently, I must run some risks to achieve that!"

A definite fear tormented him. He thought of the curious sleep Elizabeth
had fallen victim to in the boarding-house.

"Provided I have not taken some narcotic without knowing it!... Suppose
the villains are going to inject into the room some gas which would
suffocate me, and I should not know I was breathing it in? Suppose I
lose consciousness and slip into death?"

But Fandor drew himself together; he stiffened his will.

Do they know I am in this room waiting to entrap them? Do they think
they will find Nanteuil here defenceless? Who was that workman?... I
ought to be able to put a name to that familiar face?

How slow, how deadly slow, the tic-tac, tic-tac, of the timepiece?
Centuries passed between the striking of the hours!... Would it be
to-night?... To-morrow night?... Or ...

On the corridor carpet outside the room, a slight rustling sound,
continuous, barely perceptible, caught Fandor's listening ear.... Who
was it?... Was it anyone at all?... Was it imagination? He listened
intently ... not a sound now.... But, yes ... the same rustling sound
... it was nearer--moving along the wall. Fandor closed his eyes an
instant, so vividly did he feel that someone was looking at him through
the wall!

Seconds beat by--seconds that might culminate