It was very dark in the window-recess, shut off from the room by the heavy blue curtains which fell to the floor in thick folds. The room itself was not in complete darkness, for the fire, built up by Chloe with assumed extravagance before she went to bed, had burned down to a steady red glow, now and then illumined by a dancing gleam of light as a tiny flame of gas sputtered from some specially charged coal; and as Anstice peeped cautiously through a carefully arranged chink in the curtains he could see the pretty room with fair distinctness. The chairs were standing about with the peculiarly uncanny effect known to all who enter a room after it has been finally deserted for the night—an effect as of waiting for some ghostly visitors to fill their pathetic emptiness and hold high revel or stately converse in the place lately peopled by mere human beings.

On a little table by the fire stood a chess-board, the old carved red and white pieces standing on it in jumbled disarray; for Chloe and her husband, both inveterate chess-lovers, had begun a game which they were unable, through lack of time, to finish; and as his eyes fell on the board Anstice had a queer fancy that if he and Major Carstairs were not present two ghostly chess-players would issue softly from the shadows and rearrange the pieces for another and perhaps more strenuously-contested duel.

As the fantastic thought crossed his mind Anstice sat up decisively, telling himself he was growing imaginative; and Major Carstairs turned to him with a whispered word.

"Getting fidgety, eh? I know the feeling—used to get it when I was sitting in a straw hut in the marshes waiting for the duck to appear——"

He broke off suddenly; for a sound had shattered the silence; but though he and Anstice pulled themselves together in readiness for anything which might happen, both realized at the same moment that it was only the whirr of the grandfather clock which always prefaced the striking of the hour; and in another second the hour itself struck, with one deep, sonorous note which reverberated through the quiet room.

"One o'clock, and no result," Major Carstairs stretched himself cautiously. "How long is the sitting to continue, eh? It's all right for me, but I'm afraid if you have a heavy day's work in prospect——"

"Oh, I don't mind," said Anstice indifferently. "I'm used to having my sleep cut short—one's patients seem to think one can exist quite comfortably without it, though they make a tremendous fuss if they lose a night's sleep for any reason!"

"Well, if nothing happens shortly—and I'm inclined to think nothing will——" began Major Carstairs, but he got no further, for with the extraordinary aptness of conjunction which we are wont to call coincidence, though another word might more fitly be employed, the door opened almost noiselessly and a hooded figure crept on soundless feet into the room.

Anstice and his companion fairly held their breath as the shrouded form glided softly forward, the light of the dying fire doing little, now, to illumine the scene; and neither of the men could have sworn with any certainty to the identity of the person who shared their occupation of the silent room.

In the middle of the floor the figure halted suddenly; and for one wild moment Anstice fancied that some sixth sense had warned the new-comer of their presence; but realizing the danger of attracting that new-comer's thought towards him by any intensity of his own mind—for one thought will draw another as a magnet the steel—Anstice switched off the current of his thoughts, so to speak, and waited with as blank a mind as he could compass for the thing which must surely happen soon.

After that involuntary halt the figure moved slowly forward in the direction of the writing-table; and Anstice would have given a great deal to have been able to see the face of this midnight scribe; but as yet the firelit gloom remained undisturbed; and it was impossible to do more than hazard a guess as to this strange visitor's personality.

There were candles on the writing-table, and for a moment Anstice fancied that the mysterious figure would seek their aid to carry through the task confronting her—he was convinced it was a woman who sat at the table—but he was wrong, for no match was struck, no candle-flame lighted the soft dusk. Instead a small beam of light shot suddenly across the table; and Anstice and Major Carstairs both grasped at the same moment the significance of the ray.

It was a pocket electric torch, of a kind familiar to thousands nowadays, whose aid the letter-writer had evoked; and since this particular one was fitted with a bulb which enabled it to cast a continuous light without finger-pressure, it was quite effective for the purpose to which it was now being put.

Having placed the torch on the table in such a position that the ray of light fell directly across the blotting-pad, the figure made search for a sheet of paper which suited its mind; and after a moment, a sheet having been chosen, a pen was selected, dipped into Chloe's own silver inkstand and a few lines of writing inscribed slowly, and with many pauses, upon the otherwise unsullied paper.

His heart throbbing wildly, with an excitement quite foreign to his nature, Anstice watched the performance eagerly through the just-parted curtains; and so sure was he now of the identity of his quarry that he was ready to leap from his hiding-place and confront the anonymous letter-writer without further loss of time, had not a gentle pressure on his arm restrained him at the critical moment.

It was not safe to speak, since even a whisper might betray their presence; but Anstice realized Major Carstairs' intention and held himself in check, though he quivered like a greyhound straining at the leash, who fears his quarry may escape him if he be not slipped forthwith.

After what seemed like an hour, but was probably five minutes, the letter, whatever its nature, was judged complete; and with the same stealthy but unhurried movements the writer sought and obtained an envelope from the many which lay ready to hand and slipped the missive in with deft fingers. An address added, the abominable thing was complete; and having quietly put everything in order, so that even the most acute eyes could discover nothing amiss, the writer rose softly from the chair, and taking up the electric torch extinguished its beam preparatory to making her exit from the room, which was now in almost complete darkness.

This was the moment for which Major Carstairs had been waiting.

With a whispered word in Anstice's ear: "The light—quick!" he dashed aside the curtains and darted out into the room, while Anstice, hastily obeying orders, rushed to the wall and turned on the electric switch to such good purpose that the room sprang instantly into brilliant light.

There was a scream from the hooded figure in the middle of the floor—a scream of mingled anger, defiance and terror which rang in Anstice's ears for hours afterwards, and following the scream a mad, wild rush for the door—a blundering, stumbling rush in which the very garment, the long, loose cloak which was intended for a disguise, proved itself a handicap and effectually prevented its wearer making good her escape. By the time she had torn herself free of the encumbering folds which threatened to trip her up at every step Anstice had reached the door; and now he stood before it with something in his face which warned the panting creature in front of him that the way of escape was effectually barred.

Still hiding her face in the folds of her garment she turned round as though to rush towards the window and seek egress thereby; but facing her stood Major Carstairs, and the wretched culprit realized, too late, that she was trapped.

Yet as a cornered hare will turn and give battle, desperately, to her eager foes, the woman made a frantic rush as though to pass the avenging figure which stood in her path; and as she did so Major Carstairs moved forward and plucked the black hood with no gentle hand from the face it had so far partially concealed.

And as with wildly beating pulses Anstice bent forward to catch a glimpse of the mysterious visitor he knew that his surmise, unlikely as it had seemed, had been correct; that by a stroke of luck the expert, Clive, had been able to point unerringly to the clue which was to solve the mystery of those vile letters and restore to an innocent woman the fair name which had been so unjustly smirched.

For the hooded figure was none other than Tochatti.

"My God! Then it was you!" Major Carstairs' tone was so full of disgust, of loathing, of the just indignation of a righteously angry man that even Tochatti cowered in his grip; and as Anstice came forward the other man turned to him with an expression of wrath which quite transfigured his face. "Look at her, Anstice, the miserable, degraded creature! To think that she has been with my wife all these years—hanging over Cherry night and day—and all the time plotting this infamous thing ... by the way, where is that letter?"

He broke off suddenly and Anstice came a step nearer the two.

"I see it, sir!" He had caught sight of it in the woman's clenched hand, and with a smart and unexpected blow on her wrist forced her fingers to open and release that which they held. "Here it is—will you take it? I can look after her all right."

"No—but just see what the address is, will you?" Major Carstairs had regained his self-control, and now stood quiet, alert, cool, as though on parade. "May as well know who was her chosen victim this time."

"Oh, my old friend Carey—you know, the Vicar of Littlefield." Anstice tossed the envelope on to a chair out of reach. "He was the first one honoured, I believe, and possibly was to have been the last!"

All this time the woman had stood silent, her black eyes snapping, her breast heaving stormily. Now she turned on Anstice fiercely and poured out a stream of vituperative Italian which conveyed little or nothing to his mind. Seeing that she made no impression she redoubled her efforts, and finally her voice rose to a scream.

"I say, better shut her up, sir, or Mrs. Carstairs will hear!" Anstice glanced anxiously towards the door and Major Carstairs nodded.

"Yes. We don't want the whole house about our ears." He turned to the woman who now stood sullenly silent in his grasp; though if looks could kill there would certainly have been a practice for sale in Littlefield on the morrow. "Now see here, Tochatti, you've been fairly cornered—caught—and you will have to pay the penalty. In the meantime I shall lock you in your room until the morning, and I warn you it is useless trying to escape."

A noise in the doorway cut him short; and turning hastily round Anstice beheld Chloe Carstairs standing there, the light of the candle she carried casting queer flickering shadows across her pale face, in which the blue eyes gleamed more brightly than ever before.

"Chloe!" In his surprise Major Carstairs released the woman; and with a bound she was across the room, pouring out another wild flood of protestations, in which the words "il dottore" and "la bambina" occurred over and over again. Higher and higher rose her voice, more shrill and hysterical her outpourings, and Anstice's professional instinct warned him that such abnormal excitement must end in disaster—though of the nature of that ending he had at the moment no conception.

Seeing, however, that the woman, while exhausting herself, was also distressing her mistress, he moved forward with the intention of warning Tochatti she was endangering her own health; but his word of caution was never uttered, for as he approached her she spun round with a last fierce torrent of words, and, stooping down, with incredible swiftness plucked a sharp dagger from some secret hiding-place, and lunged at Anstice with all her maddened might.

Luckily for him her excitement impeded her aim; and while she doubtless intended stabbing him to the heart she merely inflicted a flesh wound on the upper part of the arm which he had raised to defend himself.

The next moment Chloe, with a quite unlooked-for strength, had wrested the weapon from the woman's grasp; and then ensued a scene which even Anstice could hardly bear to look back upon in after days.

Whether or no his theory of possession were justified, the woman was for the time being beside herself. Seeing the dagger in Chloe's hand she threw herself upon her mistress and struggled wildly to regain her property, inflicting a series of cuts on her own hand before Chloe could get free to hurl the deadly thing into a corner of the room; and even when Anstice and Carstairs had overpowered her with their superior might she fought for freedom like a mad woman. But this abnormal strength could not continue. Suddenly, as Anstice had foreseen, the inevitable collapse occurred. Nature could stand no more, and with a last wild writhe the woman slipped through the hands which held her, and uttering a sharp cry fell to the floor in a state of unconsciousness.

Half an hour later Anstice came downstairs and re-entered the room where Major Carstairs sat alone over the now brightly burning fire.

"Well!" The soldier's voice was anxious. "How is the woman? Oh, and what about your arm? Was it badly hurt?"

"No—only a very slight flesh wound, and Mrs. Carstairs has kindly bound it up for me." He relinquished the subject of his own injury abruptly. "The woman is asleep now—she grew excited again, so I've given her some bromide, and she will be quiet enough for the rest of the night."

"My wife is with her?"

"Yes. Mrs. Carstairs insists on staying there for the present."

Anstice took a cigarette from the case his host held out, and Major Carstairs made a gesture towards the tantalus on the table.

"Have a peg—I'm sure you want it!"

"Well, I think I do," returned Anstice with a smile. "We had rather a tough time of it upstairs just now." He mixed himself a drink as he spoke. "Once a Southerner lets herself go the result is apt to be disastrous."

"Will she be quieter in the morning?"

"I expect so." He stood by the mantelpiece, glass in hand; and in spite of his evident fatigue it was easy to see he was quietly jubilant over the events of the night. "The Latin races have a peculiar elasticity, you know. An Englishwoman who had passed through this sort of violent brain-storm would be absolutely exhausted, worn out for days after it; but an Italian doesn't seem to feel things in the same way. They are so naturally excitable, I suppose, that a scene like this is merely an episode in the day's work; and they recover their mental poise much more rapidly than persons of a more phlegmatic temperament would be likely to do."

"Then you think she may be—more or less—normal in the morning?"

"I daresay—a bit dazed, perhaps, but I don't think you need fear a repetition of to-night's scene. Of course she ought not to be left alone—in case she tries to scoot; but if you are staying in the house——" He paused interrogatively.

"I am staying," returned Major Carstairs quietly. "Thanks to you the cloud has lifted from our home; and since my wife is generous enough to forgive me for my unwarrantable doubt of her——"

He broke off, for Anstice was moving forward with outstretched hand; and he guessed that the younger man was rendered uncomfortable by the turn the conversation had taken.

"You're going?" He wrung Anstice's hand with fervent gratitude. "Well, it's late, of course—but won't you stay here for the rest of the night? We can give you a bed in five minutes, and I'm sure my wife will be distressed if you turn out now."

"Thanks very much, but I must go." The decision in his tone was unmistakable.

"Well, I'll get out the car and run you over——"

"No, thanks. I'd really rather walk." He picked up hat and coat from the window-seat and turned to the door with an air of finality. "It's a fine night and I shall enjoy it. I'll be round early in the morning—but I don't think Tochatti will give you any trouble for a good many hours yet."

"As soon as she is able to explain matters there will be a good deal to be done," said Major Carstairs rather grimly, as they went through the hall together. "Thank God, we have that last letter as a proof of her duplicity, and by its aid we can doubtless get a full confession out of her."

"Yes." Anstice paused a second on the doorstep before plunging into the darkness of the night. "It will be interesting to hear the whole story. The events are plain enough—but the question of motive is still a puzzling one."

"Quite so. And yet the affair will probably turn out simple, after all. Well, I mustn't keep you if you want to be off. Good night again—and"—the sincerity in his voice was pleasant to hear—"a thousand thanks for the part you have played in the unravelling of this tangle."

"Good-night. Don't let Mrs. Carstairs exhaust herself looking after the woman, will you? She is splendid, I know, but——"

"I'll go and join her in a moment," returned Carstairs quietly. "I'm an old campaigner, you know, and I'll see to it that she is properly fortified for the vigil—if she insists upon it."

And as he looked into the soldier's square-featured face, the honest eyes agleam with love for the woman he had been fool enough to doubt, Anstice felt instinctively that Chloe Carstairs' ship had come at last to a safe anchorage, that the barque which had so narrowly escaped complete shipwreck on the rock of a terrible catastrophe was now safely at rest in the haven where it would be.