ng excitement is its own meat and drink. They were sitting
silently together in the room at the back. The scented summer dusk was
deepening every minute. Suddenly there was a sound of small branches
breaking in the garden. Pocket peeped out, standing back from the window
at her entreaty.

The laburnum by the wall was shaking violently, pouring its golden rain
into both gardens, and the bush beneath it looked alive; a tall figure
rose out of it, and came creeping towards the little conservatory, bent
double, and brushing the soil from his clothes as he advanced with long
and stealthy strides. It was Dr. Baumgartner, in a cap pulled down over
his eyes, and the old alpaca jacket. He had a newspaper parcel under his
arm.

The boy and girl were in the dark angle between the window and the door;
but it was only comparative darkness, and Baumgartner might have seen
them; they were clasping hands as they shrank away from him with one
accord. But he did not seem to see them at all. He stretched himself, as
though he found it a relief to stand upright, and more mould trickled from
his garments in the act; he took off the alpaca jacket, and shook it as
one shakes a handkerchief. There could have been nothing in the pockets,
certainly no weapon, and if he had a hip-pocket there was none in that,
for his gaunt figure stood out plainly enough in the middle of the room.
There was still the newspaper parcel; he had put it down on one of the
walnut-tables. He now removed the paper; it fell at Pocket's feet, a
newspaper and nothing more; and nothing had come out of it but the
stereoscopic camera, that either watcher could detect.

And he passed through the room without taking the least notice of either
of them, whether he saw them or not; and they heard him go upstairs, and
shut the door, and then his footsteps overhead.

"I'll go up and tackle him at once," said Pocket, through his set teeth;
but Phillida would not hear of it.

"No! I must go first and see if there's nothing I can get him; he mayn't
have had anything all day. There's no need for you to come at all--I
believe he's forgotten all about us both!"

"Not he!" whispered Pocket, as the door opened overhead. "Here he comes!"

He could not help gripping his revolver as the stairs creaked again under
Dr. Baumgartner; he had gripped it more than once already with the hand
that was not holding Phillida's. The doctor was coming down in a hurry,
as though he had i