I sat down in my chair and tried to read, but the effort was useless.  Directly opposite to me was that black uncurtained window.  Every time I looked up it seemed to become once more the frame for a white evil face.  At last I could bear it no longer.  I rose and left the house.  I wandered capless across the marshes to where the wet seaweed lay strewn about, and the long waves came rolling shorewards; a wilderness now indeed of grey mists, of dark silent tongues of sea-water cleaving the land.  There was no wind-no other sound than the steadfast monotonous lapping of the waves upon the sands.  Along that road he had come; the faintly burning light upon my table showed where he had pressed his face against the window.  Then he had wandered on, past the storm-bent tree at the turn of the road pointing landwards.  A few yards farther was the creek from which we had dragged him.  The events of the night struggled to reconstruct themselves in my mind, and I fought against their slow coalescence.  I did not wish to remember—­to believe.  In my heart I felt that for some hidden reason Ray was my friend.  This visit of the Duke’s, with whatever it might portend, was without doubt inspired by him.  And, on the other hand, there was the warning of Lady Angela, so earnestly expressed, so solemn, almost sad.  How could I see light through all these things?  How could I hope to understand?

The Duke came punctually, spruce and debonnair, a small rose in his buttonhole, his wizened cheeks aglow with the smart of the stinging east wind.  With him came Lord Chelsford, whose face and figure were familiar enough to me from the pages of the illustrated papers.  Dark, spare, and tall, he spoke seldom, but I felt all the while the merciless investigation of his searching eyes.  The Duke, on the other hand, seemed to have thrown aside some part of his customary reserve.  He spoke at greater length and with more freedom than I had heard him.

“You see, Mr. Ducaine,” he began, “I am not a man who makes idle promises.  I am here to offer you employment, if you are open to accept a post of some importance, and also, to be frank with you, of some danger.”

“If I am qualified for the post, your Grace,” I answered, “I shall be only too willing to do my best.  But you must excuse me if I express exactly what is in my mind.  I am almost a stranger to you.  I am a complete stranger to Lord Chelsford.  How can you rely upon my trustworthiness?  You must have so many young men to choose from who are personally known to you.  Why do you come to me?”

The Duke smiled grimly.

“In the first place,” he said, “we are only strangers from the personal point of view, which is possibly an advantage.  I have in my pocket a close record of your days since you entered the university.  I know those who have been your friends, your tastes, how you have spent your time.  Don’t be foolish, young sir,” he added sharply, as he saw the colour rise in my cheeks:  “you