le and fine linen, while the
other--"

He interrupted me by picking up his revolver and striding to the
fireplace again.

"So be it, since you will have it so. Kill me," he added, with a queer
look, "and perhaps you may go back to Lennox Gardens and enjoy all these
things in my place."

I took my station. Both revolvers were levelled now. I took sight
along mine at his detested face. It was white but curiously eager--
hopeful even. I lowered my arm, scanning his face still; and still
scanning it, set my weapon down on the table.

"I believe you are mad," said I slowly. "But one thing I see--that, mad
or not, you're in earnest. For some reason you want me to kill you;
therefore that shall wait. For some reason it is torture to you to live
and do without me: well, I'll try you with that. It will do me good to
hurt you a bit." I slipped the revolver into my pocket and tapped it.
"Though I don't understand them, I won't quarrel with your sentiments so
long as you suffer from them. When that fails, I'll find another
opportunity for this. Good night." I stepped to the door. "Reggie!"

I shut the door on his cry: crossed the corridor, and climbing out
through the window, let myself drop into the lane.

As my feet touched the snow a revolver-shot rang out in the room behind
me.

I caught at the frozen sill to steady myself: and crouching there,
listened. Surely the report must have alarmed the house! I waited for
the sound of footsteps: waited for three minutes--perhaps longer.
None came. To be sure, the room stood well apart from the house: but it
was incredible that the report should have awakened no one! My own ears
still rang with it.

Still no footsteps came. The horse in the stable close by was still
shuffling his hoof on the cobbles. No other sound . . .

Very stealthily I hoisted myself up on the sill again, listened, dropped
inside, and tip-toed my way to the door. The candles were still burning
in the Room of Mirrors. And by the light of them, as I entered, Gervase
stepped to meet me.

"Ah, it's you," I stammered. "I heard--that is, I thought--"

And with that I saw--recognised with a catch of the breath--that the
figure I spoke to was not Gervase, but my own reflected image, stepping
forward with pale face and ghastly from a mirror. Yet a moment before I
could have sworn it was Gervase.

Gervase lay stretched on the hearthrug with his hand towards the fire.
I caught up a candle