“The stranger is upstairs, my lord,” interrupted Hedges, coming back to the room.  “I asked him what name, and he said your lordship would know him when you saw him, and there was no need to give it.”

Lord Hartledon went upstairs, marshalled by the butler.  Hedges was resenting the mystery; very much on his master’s account, a little on his own, for it cannot be denied that he was given to curiosity.  He threw open the door of the little smoking-den, and in his loftiest, loudest, most uncompromising voice, announced: 

“The gentleman, my lord.”

Then retired, and shut them in.

Thomas Carr remained alone.  He was not fond of wine, and did not help himself during his host’s absence.  Five minutes, ten minutes, half-an-hour, an hour; and still he was alone.  At the end of the first half-hour he began to think Val a long time; at the end of the hour he feared something must have happened.  Could he be quarrelling with the mysterious stranger?  Could he have forgotten him and gone out?  Could he—­

The door softly opened, and Lord Hartledon came in.  Was it Lord Hartledon?  Thomas Carr rose from his chair in amazement and dread.  It was like him, but with some awful terror upon him.  His face was of an ashy whiteness; the veins of his brow stood out; his dry lips were drawn.

“Good Heavens, Hartledon!” uttered Thomas Carr.  “What is it?  You look as if you had been accused of murder.”

“I have been accused of it,” gasped the unhappy man, “of worse than murder.  Ay, and I have done it.”

The words called up a strange confusion of ideas in the mind of Thomas Carr.  Worse than murder!

“What is it?” cried he, aloud.  “I am beginning to dream.”

“Will you stand by me?” rejoined Hartledon, his voice seeming to have changed into something curiously hollow.  “I have asked you before for trifles; I ask you now in the extremity of need.  Will you stand by me, and aid me with your advice?”

“Y—­es,” answered Mr. Carr, his excessive astonishment causing a hesitation.  “Where is your visitor?”

“Upstairs.  He holds a fearful secret, and has me in his power.  Do you come back with me, and combat with him against its betrayal.”

“A fearful secret!” was Thomas Carr’s exclamation.  “What brings you with one?”

Lord Hartledon only groaned.  “You will stand by me, Carr?  Will you come upstairs and do what you can for me?”

“I am quite ready,” replied Thomas Carr, quickly.  “I will stand by you now, as ever.  But—­I seem to be in a maze.  Is it a true charge?”

“Yes, in so far as that—­But I had better tell you the story,” he broke off, wiping his brow.  “I must tell it you before you go upstairs.”

He linked his arm within his friend’s, and drew him to the window.  It was broad daylight still, but gloomy there:  the window had the pleasure of reposing under the leads, and was gloomy at noon.  Lord Hartledon hesitated still.  “Elster’s folly!” were the words mechanically floating in the mind of Thomas Carr.