“Pardon me, gentlemen, but did any of you come over in the omnibus from the station to-night?”

“I did, sir,” replied one of the party, removing his cigar and twitching off the ashes with his little finger, then looking up with the air of a man expectant of question.

“The watchman tells me a man came over who was making inquiries for Colonel Maynard.  May I ask if you saw or heard of such a person?”

“A gentleman got in soon after we left the station, and when the driver hailed him he went forward and took a seat near him.  They had some conversation, but I did not hear it.  I only know that he got out again a little while before we reached the hotel.”

“Could you see him, and describe him?  I am a friend of Colonel Maynard’s, an officer of his regiment,—­which will account for my inquiry.”

“Well, yes, sir.  I noticed he was very tall and slim, was dressed in dark clothes, and wore a dark slouched hat well down over his forehead.  He was what I would call a military-looking man, for I noticed his walk as he got off; but he wore big spectacles,—­blue or brown glass, I should say,—­and had a heavy beard.”

“Which way did he go when he left the ’bus?”

“He walked northward along the road at the edge of the bluff, right up towards the cottages on the upper level,” was the answer.

Armitage thanked him for his courtesy, explained that he had left the colonel only a short time before and that he was then expecting no visitor, and if one had come it was perhaps necessary that he should be hunted up and brought to the hotel.  Then he left the porch and walked hurriedly through the park towards its northernmost limit.  There to his left stood the broad roadway along which, nestling under shelter of the bluff, was ranged the line of cottages, some two-storied, with balconies and verandas, others low, single-storied affairs with a broad hall-way in the middle of each and rooms on both north and south sides.  Farthermost north on the row, almost hidden in the trees, and nearest the ravine, stood Aunt Grace’s cottage, where were domiciled the colonel’s household.  It was in the big bay-windowed north room that he and the colonel had had their long conference earlier in the evening.  The south room, nearly opposite, was used as their parlor and sitting-room.  Aunt Grace and Miss Renwick slept in the little front rooms north and south of the hall-way, and the lights in their rooms were extinguished; so, too, was that in the parlor.  All was darkness on the south and east.  All was silence and peace as Armitage approached; but just as he reached the shadow of the stunted oak-tree growing in front of the house his ears were startled by an agonized cry, a woman’s half-stifled shriek.  He bounded up the steps, seized the knob of the door and threw his weight against it.  It was firmly bolted within.  Loud he thundered on the panels. “’Tis I,—­Armitage!” he called.  He heard the quick patter of little feet; the bolt was slid, and he rushed in, almost stumbling against a trembling, terror-stricken, yet welcoming white-robed form,—­Alice Renwick, barefooted, with her glorious wealth of hair tumbling in dark luxuriance all down over the dainty night-dress,—­Alice Renwick, with pallid face and wild imploring eyes.