“Maud fainted....  Please don’t tell her I told you, Mr. Baxter; she wouldn’t like you to know that.  And then other things happen sometimes which aren’t nice.  Do you think me a great coward?  I—­I think I’ve got a fit of nerves tonight.”

Laurie could see that she was trembling.

“I think you’re very kind,” he said, “to take the trouble to tell me all this.  But indeed I was quite ready to be startled.  I quite understand what you mean—­but—­”

“Mr. Baxter, you can’t understand unless you’ve experienced it.  And, you know, the other day here you knew nothing at all:  you were not conscious.  Now tonight you’re to keep awake; Mr. Vincent’s going to arrange to do what he can about that.  And—­and I don’t quite like it.”

“Why, what on earth can happen?” asked Laurie, bewildered.

“Mr. Baxter, I suppose you realize that it’s you that they—­whoever they are—­are interested in?  There’s no kind of doubt that you’ll be the center tonight.  And I did just want you to understand fully that there are risks.  I shouldn’t like to think—­”

Laurie stood up.

“I understand perfectly,” he said.  “Certainly, I always knew there were risks.  I hold myself responsible, and no one else.  Is that quite clear?”

The wire of the front-door bell suddenly twitched in the hall, and a peal came up the stairs.

“He’s come,” said the other.  “Come upstairs, Mr. Baxter.  Please don’t say a word of what I’ve said.”

She hurried out, and he after her, as the footman came up from the lower regions.

* * * * *

The drawing-room presented an unusual appearance to Laurie as he came in.  All the small furniture had been moved away to the side where the windows looked into the street, and formed there what looked like an amateur barricade.  In the center of the room, immediately below the electric light, stood a solid small round table with four chairs set round it as if for Bridge.  There was on the side further from the street a kind of ante-room communicating with the main room by a high, wide archway nearly as large as the room to which it gave access; and within this, full in sight, stood a curious erection, not unlike a confessional, seated within for one, roofed, walled, and floored with thin wood.  The front of this was open, but screened partly by two curtains that seemed to hang from a rod within.  The rest of the little extra room was entirely empty except for the piano that stood closed in the corner.

There were two persons standing rather disconsolately on the vacant hearthrug—­Mrs. Stapleton and the clergyman whom Laurie had met on his last visit here.  Mr. Jamieson wore an expression usually associated with funerals, and Mrs. Stapleton’s face was full of suppressed excitement.

“Dearest, what a time you’ve been!  Was that Mr. Vincent?”

“I think so,” said Lady Laura.