Never were slippers and easy-chair more welcome to me than they were that night. I was thoroughly weary in mind as well as body, and as I dropped into the chair and donned the slippers, I determined to go early to bed, and to forget all about the Lawrence enigma. I was heartily glad that I was rid of it; it had proved so baffling, so discouraging that I rejoiced at the chance which had taken it out of my hands. Burr Curtiss must puzzle it out for himself.

I fancied I could see him, pacing up and down the deck of the Oceanic, staring ahead into the starlit night, bracing himself for that meeting which would mean so much to him. I wondered what Marcia Lawrence's thoughts were. Did she regret that she had fled? Did she already see the fatal error of that step? Ah, if her lover were only beside her, there on the deck, as he might have been but for that cruel irony of fate which had swept her from him! She could not know that he was pursuing her—that he would be the first to meet her as she stepped ashore at Liverpool. How would she bear the shock of that meeting?

I had bought a copy of the last edition of the Record as I came up from dinner, and I shook it out and glanced over it. Apparently Godfrey had discovered nothing new in the affair at Elizabeth, for the paper made absolutely no reference to it, so far as I could discover. No doubt he had returned to New York immediately after bidding me good-bye; by this time he was probably deep in the untangling of some other mystery for the benefit of the Record's readers. Sensations of to-day eclipsed those of yesterday, and I realised how quickly Burr Curtiss and his affairs would drop from the public mind.

But as I laid the paper aside, and filled my pipe for a final smoke before turning in, I told myself that I could scarcely hope that they would drop so easily from my mind, however much I might wish it; besides, I had left it unsolved and seemingly unsolvable, and a mystery of that sort is not easily forgotten. It is like an unfinished book, an unsettled case—it lives to oppress the mind and pique the imagination.

I knocked out my pipe impatiently. The place for me was in bed. I was becoming obsessed by this affair. If I did not shake it off, it would end by getting such a grip of me that I could not sleep at all, or I would fall asleep only to be startled awake again as I had been the night before. That was truly a terrifying prospect!

I started for my bedroom, when a tap at my door stopped me. I opened it to find Mrs. Fitch, my landlady, on the threshold.

"A telegram for you, Mr. Lester," she said, and held it out to me. "I told the boy to wait."

"Thank you," I said, and tore open the envelope. "There'll be no answer," I added, a moment later, and shut the door somewhat hastily I fear, but Mrs. Fitch's eyes are sharp ones, and I did not wish her to see my face just then.

I dropped into my chair and read the message again:—

"I advise you to return to Elizabeth at once. New developments in which you will be interested.

"Godfrey."

"New developments!" Ah, Godfrey knew me well! For already my fatigue was forgotten in the ardour of the chase, and a moment later I found myself changing from slippers to shoes as fast as my fingers could handle the laces.

Mrs. Fitch met me on the stair.

"Not going out again, Mr. Lester!" she protested. "Why, you'll kill yourself."

"I can't help it, Mrs. Fitch," I said. "I've got to go."

"Not bad news, I hope?"

"No."

"And you'll be back soon?"

"Not to-night, I'm afraid."

"Oh, nonsense, Mr. Lester——"

But I left her protesting on the step, and hurried down the street. Mrs. Fitch meant well, but she was sometimes a little in the way.

I took the elevated to Cortlandt Street, and hurried down to the ferry, expecting every instant to hear the gong which announced the departure of the boat. But I found that I had ten minutes to wait before there was a train, and I spent them walking feverishly up and down the narrow waiting-room, where the road's patrons are herded like cattle behind the slatted gates.

At last the gates opened; there was the usual rush to the boat; the slow crossing of the wide river, with the cool salt breeze coming in from the ocean; the stampede to the coaches through the great Jersey City station; and finally I found myself in a seat, with the train rumbling out from under the long shed.

I stared out into the night, wondering what the new developments could be. They must have been unusual and unexpected ones, to stir Godfrey to sending me that telegram! But what could they be? For the present, the case was closed. Curtiss and Miss Lawrence were both in mid-ocean, and any further developments must await their meeting. Besides, it was only a few hours since I myself had left Elizabeth, and there had seemed no prospect then of anything further happening there. Godfrey had announced his own intention of leaving the place at once—he had said that the case wasn't worth wasting any more time over. What, then, had detained him?

Was it possible, I asked myself, that Marcia Lawrence had not sailed on the Umbria, that the message had been merely a blind, that she had foreseen that we would trace it to the West Street office, that she had written it on a sheet of the steamer's paper for the purpose of deceiving us? Yes, that was clearly possible. She may have returned home, and Godfrey, discovering the return, had summoned me to be present at her unmasking! I had really only half-believed that it was she whom Curtiss had descried upon the Umbria's forward deck. But if she had, indeed, done all this, she must be far more deeply versed in deception than I had supposed. I should hardly have given her credit for laying a plan so adroit as that; but one can never judge a woman's capabilities.

Suddenly conscious again of my fatigue, I laid my head back against the seat, and dozed away until the sharp call of the brakeman aroused me. Not until I had left the train did I remember that Godfrey had appointed no rendezvous. He might, perhaps, be awaiting me at the hotel, or, at least, he had certainly left a message there for me, and I started up the street.

But an inquiry of the clerk developed the fact that, while Godfrey was still stopping there, he had gone out immediately after dinner, and had left no message of any kind. For a moment I was fairly taken aback, so confident had I been; but perhaps Godfrey had deemed a message superfluous after the hint given in the telegram—I knew how he detested the obvious. He had no doubt thought that hint sufficient—and it was.

Eleven o'clock was striking as I gained the street again, and turned my steps toward the Lawrence place. If there were indeed any new developments, it must be either there or at the cottage that they had come to light. That was self-evident; that could be the only rendezvous; it was there Godfrey was awaiting me. So I walked on rapidly, and in a very few minutes reached my destination.

The house was dark and gloomy, as it had been the night before. I entered the grounds and made a careful circuit of the place, but not a glimmer of light could I detect at any of the windows. There was nothing to indicate that any one was stirring, nor did I come upon any trace of Godfrey, though I half expected to collide with him at any moment. Plainly there was nothing to be discovered here, and at last I turned my steps toward the path which led to the cottage.

Then suddenly I stopped, for it seemed to me that I had caught sight of a dim figure flitting among the trees. I was facing the street, and the glow from the arc lights there made a grey background against which I fancied I saw a shadow moving. I strained my eyes—yes—there it was again, approaching the house along the path.

I am no more superstitious than most men, yet, for an instant, the notion seized me like an electric shock, that this was no earthly visitant. But I shook myself together, and leaned forward watching it from behind a sheltering tree. It went directly to the balcony steps, and mounted them with a swiftness which showed how familiar it was with the place. Had I been right in my conjecture, then? Had Marcia Lawrence really come home again?

The question flashed through my brain like lightning. I had already delayed too much; it was time that I did something!

In an instant I had gained the path and mounted the steps. One of the windows was open. I passed through it into the library.

There was a sharp click and, in the sudden flare of light, I found myself looking down the barrel of a revolver, behind which glared the sinister face of Lucy Kingdon.