That little ceremony being over, they turned in, Doctor Bartholomew, his arm linked in Nigel’s going with him to his bedroom, and, in the half-dusk of the spluttering candles, they stood together at the uncurtained window and looked out in silence upon the flames, the Frozen Flames that Wynne had gone out to investigate.  For quite ten minutes they stood still.  Then the doctor stirred himself and broke into a little laugh.

“Well, well,” he said comfortably, “whatever our friend Wynne is going to do, I don’t really think we need put any credence in the story that he won’t return, Nigel.  So you can go to bed in comfort on that, can’t you?”

Merriton nodded.  Then he yawned and shut his eyes.

“What’s that?  Credence in the story?  Of course not, Doctor.  I’m not such a fool as I may look.  Wynne’s playing a game on us, and at this moment he is probably seated in Brellier’s study having a laugh at the rest of us, waitin’ up for him anxiously, like a lot of scared old women.  Heigho!  I’m tired....  You’re interested in firearms, Doctor.  Here’s my little pet, my sleepin’ companion, you understand, that has been with me through many a hot campaign.”  He leaned over and took a little revolver out of the drawer of the little cabinet that stood by the bedside.  The doctor, who had a remarkably fine collection of firearms, handled it with practised hands, remarked upon its good points, cocked the tiny thing, and then lifting his head looked Nigel straight in the eyes.

“I see you keep it loaded, my boy,” he said quietly.

Merriton laughed.

“Yes.  Habit, I suppose.  One needed a loaded revolver in the jungle where every black man’s hand was against you.  Nice little toy, isn’t it?”

“Yes.  Looks very business-like, too.”

“It is.  Twice now it has saved my life.  I owe it a good turn....  Well,” laying the thing down upon the top of the cabinet and turning to the doctor with a smile.  “I suppose you’ll be turning in now.  Pleasant dreams, old chap, and plenty of ’em.  If you hear anything of Wynne—­”

“I’ll let you know,” broke in the doctor, returning the smile affectionately.  “Good-night.”

He turned and went out through the door to his own room, the next one along the hall.

Nigel, after hesitating a moment, strode over to the window.  It was still as black as a pocket outside, for dawn was not due for some hours yet, and against the darkness the flames still danced their nightly revel.  He shook his fist at them and then broke into a harsh laugh as the thought of Dacre Wynne came to him again.  Dash the fellow!  He was always, in some way or another, intruding upon his privacy, whether it was mental or otherwise.  Then, as he looked, it seemed as though a fresh flame suddenly flashed out in the velvet darkness to the left of the others.  To his excited fancy it looked bigger, brighter, newer!  But that was impossible!  The Fens were uninhabited.