carried on by the wind which followed the tide.  He sat quite still and tried to think calmly, tried to piece together in his mind the sequence of events which had brought him to this part of the world and which had led to his remaining where he was, an undesired hanger-on at the threshold of Miles Fentolin.  He had the feeling that to-night he had burned his boats.  There was no longer any pretence of friendliness possible between him and this strange creature.  Mr. Fentolin suspected him, realised that he himself was suspected.  But of what?  Hamel moved in his chair restlessly.  Sometimes that gathering cloud of suspicion seemed to him grotesque.  Of what real harm could he be capable, this little autocrat who from his chair seemed to exercise such a malign influence upon every one with whom he was brought into contact?  Hamel sighed.  The riddle was insoluble.  With a sudden rush of warmer and more joyous feelings, he let the subject slip away from him.  He closed his eyes and dreamed for a while.  There was a new world before him, joys which only so short a time ago he had fancied had passed him by.

He sat up in his chair with a start.  The fire had become merely a handful of grey ashes, his limbs were numb and stiff.  The lamp was flickering out.  He had been dozing, how long he had no idea.  Something had awakened him abruptly.  There was a cold draught blowing through the room.  He turned his head, his hands still gripping the sides of his chair.  His heart gave a leap.  The outer door was a few inches open, was being held open by some invisible force.  There was some one there, some one on the point of entering stealthily.  Even as he watched, the crack became a little wider.  He sat with his eyes riveted upon that opening space.  The unseen hand was still at work.  Every instant he expected to see a face thrust forward.  The sensation of absolute physical fear by which he was oppressed was a revelation to him.  He found himself wishing almost feverishly that he was armed.  The physical strength in which he had trusted seemed to him at that instant a valueless and impotent thing.  There was a splash of spray or raindrops against the window and through the crack in the door.  The lamp chimney hissed and spluttered and finally the light went out.  The room was in sudden darkness.  Hamel sprang then to his feet.  Silence had become an intolerable thing.  He felt the close presence of another human being creeping in upon him.

“Who’s there?” he cried.  “Who’s there, I say?”

There was no direct answer, only the door was pushed a little further open.  He had stepped close to it now.  The sweep of the wind was upon his face, although in the black darkness he could see nothing.  And then a sudden recollection flashed in upon him.  From his trousers pocket he snatched a little electric torch.  In an instant his thumb had pressed the button.  He turned it upon the door.  The shivering white hand which held it open was plainly in view.  It was the hand of a woman!  He stepped swiftly forward.  A dark figure almost fell into his arms.