A great curiosity respecting this person seized me, and without striking a match as I had intended to do, I walked to the window and looked out into the road.  Twenty yards away I saw the figure of a man who seemed to be come almost to the end of his resources; for I could hear him panting as he ran.  Nor did my wonder decrease when, as he came nearer and stared up in my direction, I recognized him for the shabby-looking person whom I had observed that morning sitting on the bench before the inn door.

Wondering what his presence might portend—­for clearly his business was with me—­I leaned out of the window, and as he came up to the door of the inn I saw him stagger and clutch at the post which supported the sign-board, swaying dizzily.  He was clearly almost exhausted, and his voice when he spoke was a husky whisper: 

“Don’t light your candle!” he said.

Now, this remark, coming at such a time and in these circumstances, struck me as so ludicrous that at first I was tempted to laugh; but the man’s earnest sincerity, as evidenced by his exhausted condition and the urgency of his manner, did not fail to impress me, and: 

“Why not?” I asked, still leaning out of the window and filled with a great wonderment.

“Never mind,” he panted.  “Don’t!  Can I come up?”

Something now in the breathless speech of the man below struck me as oddly familiar.  But yet so dense was I that I failed to recognize the truth of the matter, and: 

“Certainly,” I said.  “I will bring a light down to show you the way, if you have business with me.”

“No light!” he cried hoarsely.  “If you value your life, don’t strike a match!”

By this time so bewildered had I become that I scarce knew whether to descend to meet this apparent madman or to remain where I was.

“Don’t hesitate, Mr. Addison!” he cried, now beginning to recover his breath.  “Do exactly as I tell you!”

“Good God!” I exclaimed.

I turned and ran to the door and on downstairs.  For at last I had recognized the voice of this midnight runner.  Throwing open the door, I held out my hand and the shabby-looking man extended his in return.

“Gatton!" I cried excitedly.  “Gatton!  What on earth does this mean?  Why have you been masquerading in this fashion?  I saw you here this morning and you never gave me the slightest sign of acknowledgment!”

“I never intended to!” panted the Inspector, staggering rather than walking up the stairs.  “But I have performed one of the hardest tasks of my life to-night and have only succeeded by a few seconds!”

We were now at the door of my room, but: 

“Don’t go in!” said Gatton shortly.  “Let me think what we must do.”

“But I don’t understand at all!”

“You will understand in a moment!” was the grim reply.  “You would have understood already if you had lighted your candle.”