ious a mansion. Add to these reasons a keen pleasure in profiting
by the occurrence of the unexpected, and you will guess that Denzil
ended by accepting the strange invitation of Berwin.

Being now fully committed to the adventure, he went forward with cool
courage and an observant eye, to spy out, if possible, the secret upon
which hinged these mysteries.

As on the former occasion, Berwin inducted his guest into the
sitting-room, and here, as previously, a dainty supper was spread.
Berwin turned up the lamp light and waved his hand round the
luxuriously furnished room, pointing particularly to the space between
table and window.

"The figures whose shadows you saw," said he, "must have struggled
together in this space, so as to be between the lamp and the blind for
the performance of their pantomime. But I would have you observe, Mr.
Denzil, that there is no disturbance of the furniture to show that such
a struggle as you describe took place; also that the curtains are drawn
across the window, and no light could have been thrown on the blind."

"The curtains were, no doubt, drawn after I rang the bell," said Lucian,
glancing towards the heavy folds of crimson velvet which veiled the
window.

"The curtains," retorted Berwin, stripping off his coat, "were drawn by
me before I went out."

Lucian said nothing, but shook his head doubtfully. Evidently Berwin was
trying, for his own ends, to talk him into a belief that his eyes had
deceived him; but Denzil was too clear-headed a young man to be so
gulled. Berwin's explanations and excuses only confirmed the idea that
there was something in the man's life which cut him off from humanity,
and which would not bear the light of day. Hitherto, Lucian had heard
rather than seen Berwin; but now, in the clear light of the lamp, he had
an excellent opportunity of observing both the man and his quarters.

Berwin was of medium height, and lean, with a clean-shaven face, hollow
cheeks, and black, sunken eyes. His hair was grey and thin, his looks
wild and wandering, and the hectic colouring of his face and narrow
chest showed that he was far gone in consumption. Even as Lucian looked
at him he was shaken by a hollow cough, and when he withdrew his
handkerchief from his lips the white linen was spotted with blood.

He was in evening dress, and looked eminently refined, although worn and
haggard in appearance. Denzil noted two peculiar marks about him; the
first, a serpentine ci