door of his sitting-room faced the end of the corridor.

The walls were massive, as in all Tudor houses, and the doors so
deeply recessed that there was space for a small mat in front of each.
Ordinarily boots placed there were not visible in the line of the
corridor, but the detectives' footgear stood well in view. There were
two reasons for this. In the first place, Hilton Fenley might like to
see them, so his highly probable if modest desire was gratified;
secondly, when Parker visited Sylvia and quitted her, and when Sylvia
went downstairs, Furneaux's head, lying between two pairs of boots,
could scarcely be distinguished, while his scope of vision was only
slightly, if at all, diminished.

Soon the girl's footsteps could be heard crossing the hall, and the
raising of the drawing-room window and opening of the shutters were
clearly audible. Winter, whose office had been a sinecure hitherto,
now came into the scheme.

He saw Sylvia's slight form standing beneath, marked her hesitancy,
and watched her slow progress down the terraces and into the park.
This nocturnal enterprise on her part was rather perplexing, and he
was in two minds whether or not to cross the room and consult with
Furneaux, when the latter suddenly withdrew his head, closed the door,
and hissed "Snore!"

Winter crept to a bed, and put up an artistic performance, a duet,
musical, regular, not too loud. In a little while his colleague's
"S-s-t!" stopped him, and a slight crack of a finger against a thumb
called him to the door, which was open again.

Explanation was needless. Hilton Fenley, like the other watchers,
hearing the creaking of window and shutters, had looked out from his
own darkened room. In all likelihood, thanking his stars for the happy
chance given thus unexpectedly, he noted the direction the girl was
taking, and acted as if prepared for this very development; the truth
being, of course, that he was merely adapting his own plans to
immediate and more favorable conditions.

Coming out into the corridor, he consulted his watch. Then he glanced
in the direction of the room which held the two men he had cause to
fear--such ample cause as he little dreamed of at that moment. To make
assurance doubly sure, he walked that way, not secretly, but boldly,
since it was part of his project now to court observation--by others,
at any rate, if not by the drugged emissaries of Scotland Yard. He
waited outside the closed door and heard what