Jimmie Dale paused, glanced at the paper which he still held in his hand, then handed it to Benson.

“Just one thing more, Benson,” he said:  “Listed on that paper you will find a different rendezvous for each night for the next five nights, excluding to-night, which, after you have returned the young lady to her home, you are to pass by on your way back here.  See that your drive is always over in time for you to pass each night’s rendezvous at half past eleven sharp.  Don’t stop unless I signal you.  If I am not there, go right on home, and be at the next place on the following night.  I am fairly well satisfied they will not bother about you after to-night, or to-morrow night at the most; but, for all that, you must take no chances, so, except in the route you take in going to the young lady’s, always avoid covering the same ground twice, which might give the appearance of having some ulterior purpose in view—­even in your drives, vary your runs.  Is this clear, Benson?”

“Yes, sir,” said Benson earnestly.

“Very well, then,” said Jimmie Dale.  “Eight o’clock to the dot, Benson—­compare your time with Jason’s.  And now, Jason, see that I get a chance to sleep until dinner time to-night.”

The hours that followed were hours of sound and much-needed sleep for Jimmie Dale, and from which he awoke only on Jason’s entrance that evening with the dinner tray.

“I’ve slept like a log, Jason!” he cried briskly, as he leaped out of bed.  “Anything new—­anything happened?”

“No, sir; not a thing,” Jason answered.  “Only, Master Jim, sir”—­the old man twisted his hands nervously—­“I—­you’ll excuse my saying so, sir—­I do hope you’ll be careful to-night, sir.  I can’t help being afraid that something’ll happen to you, Master Jim.”

“Nonsense, Jason!” Jimmie Dale laughed cheerfully.  “There’s nothing going to happen—­to me!  You go ahead now and stay with the servants, and get them out of the road at the proper time.”

He bathed, dressed, ate his dinner, and was slipping cartridges into the magazine of his automatic when, within a minute or two of eight o’clock, Jason’s whisper came from the doorway.

“It’s all clear now, Master Jim, sir.”

“Right!” Jimmie Dale responded—­and followed Jason down the stairway, and to the head of the cellar stairs.

Here Jason halted.

“God keep you, Master Jim!” said the old man huskily.  “Good-night, Jason,” Jimmie Dale answered softly; and, with a reassuring squeeze on the other’s arm, went on down to the cellar.

Here he moved quickly, noiselessly across to the window—­not the window of the night before, but another of the same description, almost directly beneath the one in his den above, that faced the garage and lay in the line of that black shadow path between the two buildings.  Deftly, cautiously without sound, a half inch, an inch at a time he opened it.  He stood listening, then.  A minute passed.  Then he heard Benson open and shut the back door; then Benson in the yard; and then Benson’s voice in a muttered and irritable growl, talking to himself, as he stamped around on the ground.