d the door into the kitchen behind, from
which the woman who came to minister to their wants had some time ago
departed. Everything was in order here and spotlessly neat. He climbed
the narrow staircase, looked in at Furley's room and his own, and at
the third apartment, in which had been rigged up a temporary bath. The
result was unilluminating. He turned and descended the stairs.

"Either," he went on, with a very slight frown, "I am not psychic, or
whatever may be happening is happening out of doors."

He raised the latch of the door, under which a little pool of water was
now standing, and leaned out. There seemed to be a curious cessation
of immediate sounds. From somewhere straight ahead of him, on the other
side of that black velvet curtain of darkness, came the dull booming of
the wind, tearing across the face of the marshes; and beyond it, beating
time in a rhythmical sullen roar, the rise and fall of the sea upon the
shingle. But near at hand, for some reason, there was almost silence.
The rain had ceased, the gale for a moment had spent itself. The strong,
salty moisture was doubly refreshing after the closeness of the small,
lamplit room. Julian lingered there for several moments.

"Nothing like fresh air," he muttered, "for driving away fancies."

Then he suddenly stiffened. He leaned forward into the dark, listening.
This time there was no mistake. A cry, faint and pitiful though it was,
reached his ears distinctly.

"Julian! Julian!"

"Coming, old chap," he shouted. "Wait until I get a torch."

He stepped quickly back into the sitting room, drew an electric torch
from the drawer of the homely little chiffonier and, regardless of
regulations, stepped once more out into the darkness, now pierced for
him by that single brilliant ray. The door opened on to a country road
filled with gleaming puddles. On the other side of the way was a strip
of grass, sloping downwards; then a broad dyke, across which hung the
remains of a footbridge. The voice came from the water, fainter now but
still eager. Julian hurried forward, fell on his knees by the side of
the dyke and, passing his hands under his friend's shoulders, dragged
him out of the black, sluggish water.

"My God!" he exclaimed. "What happened, Miles? Did you slip?"

"The bridge gave way when I was half across," was the muttered response.
"I think my leg's broken. I fell in and couldn't get clear--just managed
to raise my head out of the water and cl