Geoffrey was lying perdu among the gorse on the cliff uplands. He had a field glass and a rook rifle by his side, for he was waiting for a rabbit. Also he had stolen out here to think over the many matters that puzzled him.

He was slightly disturbed and, on the whole, not altogether well pleased. Why had his uncle and the mysterious Tchigorsky taken him so far into their confidence and then failed him at the critical moment? He was prepared to take his share of the danger; indeed he had already done so and had proved his steel.

And was not Marion equally mysterious? True, he might have got more out of her, but had refrained from motives of delicacy. Perhaps, after all, his elders knew best. A word slipped, a suspicious glance, might spoil everything.

Then Geoffrey looked up suddenly. Some two hundred yards away he saw a rabbit lopping along in his direction. At the same instant two figures came along the cliff. They were ladies and the sight of them astonished Geoffrey, for it was not usual to see anything more modern than a shepherd or a dog at this wild spot.

The figures paused. They were picked out clear against the sky line as Geoffrey lay there. He recognized one of them. Surely the tall lady, with the easy, swinging carriage and supple grace, could be none other than Mrs. May.

Geoffrey arranged his glasses. They were powerful binoculars, and through them he could see Mrs. May's features quite plainly. He looked through them again long and earnestly. And her companion was Marion!

Just for an instant Geoffrey doubted the evidence of his senses. He wiped the glasses with his handkerchief and looked through them long and earnestly. No doubt could any longer be entertained.

It was Marion—Marion who had declared that she had never spoken to the woman—Marion, who hated the sight of her. And here she was, walking along with Mrs. May as if they were something more than friends.

Yes, it was Marion beyond a doubt. She had discarded her white dress for one of blue; her sailor hat was replaced by a red tam-o'-shanter. All the same, it was not possible to mistake the graceful figure. Even without the glasses Geoffrey would have been prepared to swear to her.

He lay low under the bushes. The two were coming in his direction. Geoffrey did not want to listen, but something forced him there, some power he could not resist. Nearer and nearer they came, until Geoffrey could hear Mrs. May's voice.

"That is impossible, my dear Zazel," she said. "But you are safe."

"I am not so sure of that," was the reply. "And I'm only a pawn in the game."

It was Marion's voice; the same, yet not the same. It was a hoarse, strained voice, like the voice of a man who smokes to excess. Certainly Geoffrey was not prepared to swear to those as the tones of Marion.

"Absurd, Zazel. Of course you know that we are all in it together. And look at the glorious reward when our task is over. We must succeed ultimately, there is no doubt about that in spite of Tchigorsky. It is only a question of time. Am I to believe that you are not going to be true to your oath?"

"I shall not forget my oath. Can the leopard change his spots? But I am getting so tired of it all. I should like to end it at one swoop. If you can do that——"

"I have just shown you how it is possible."

"There is sense in that suggestion. And it is so artistic. It would be quoted in the scientific papers and various ingenious theories would be put forth. But some might escape."

"One, or two perhaps at the outside. Let them. Nobody could suspect us over that. And I have the bees safely in my possession."

Geoffrey heard no more. The figures passed by him and then repassed in the direction whence they came.

No sooner were they out of sight than Geoffrey rose to his feet. He felt that he must ascertain at once whether that girl was Marion or not. The face was hers, the figure hers, but that voice—never!

He would find out, he would know, he would——

Then he paused. He came over the knoll of the irregular cliff and there strolling towards him in her white dress and straw hat was Marion. She was gathering gorse and did not see him until he was close upon her. The pause gave Geoffrey time to recover from his absolute amazement.

So that creature had not been Marion after all. A deep sigh of thankfulness rose to his lips. The sense of relief was almost painful.

By the time that Marion became conscious of his presence he had recovered his presence of mind. Marion plainly could know nothing about her double and he was not going to tell her.

"I heard you were here, Geoff," she said. "Jessop told me so just now. Are you going home?" Geoffrey nodded; he had no words for the present. "It is so lovely," Marion went on. "I am quite proud of my courage in coming alone. Do you see anything else here?"

"Nothing but rabbits," Geoffrey replied, "and few of them to-day. You are the only human being I have seen since I started."

Then they walked home chattering gayly together. Geoffrey felt his suspicions falling away from him one by one; indeed he was feeling somewhat ashamed of himself. To doubt Marion on any ground was ridiculous; to doubt the evidence of his own senses was more absurd still. Thank God he had met Marion.

All the same there were things to tell Ralph Ravenspur. He, at any rate, must know all that had been heard that morning. Ralph was seated in his room with his everlasting pipe in his mouth, much as if he had not moved since breakfast.

"I have news for you, uncle," Geoffrey said as he entered the room.

"Of course you have, my boy. I knew that directly I heard your step on the stair. I hope you have stumbled on something of importance."

"Well, that is for you to say. I saw Mrs. May. She came quite close to me on the cliffs. She had a companion. When I looked through my glasses I saw it was Marion."

Ralph did not start. He merely smiled.

"Not our Marion," he said. "Not our dear little girl."

"Of course not. Singular that you should have our love of and faith in Marion when you have never seen her. I had my glasses and I could have sworn it was Marion. Then they came close enough for me to hear them speak, and I knew that I was mistaken. It was not Marion's voice. Besides, I met the real Marion a few minutes later dressed in her white dress and hat."

"So that is settled. What did the other girl wear?"

"A loose blue dress. A serge, I should say."

"And her hat?"

"A Scottish thing—what they call a tam-o'-shanter."

"So that acquits our Marion. She couldn't be in two places at once; she couldn't even wear two dresses at the same time. And our Marion's voice is the music of the sphere—the sweetest in the whole world. But the face was the same."

"The likeness was paralyzing. What do you make of it, uncle?"

Ralph smiled dryly.

"I make a good deal of it," he replied. "Let us not jump to conclusions, however. Did you hear anything they were saying?"

"Of course I did. Mrs. May was urging her companion to do something. She was pointing out how rich the reward would be. It was something, I fancy, that had a deal to do with us."

"I shouldn't be surprised," Ralph said grimly. "Go on."

"Something artistic that would be commented on in the scientific papers, a thing that would not lead to suspicion."

"Yes, yes. Did you manage to get a clue to what it was?"

"I'm afraid not. Mrs. May made one remark that was an enigma to me. She said that she had the bees safely in her possession."

A queer sound came from Ralph's lips; his face glared with a strange light.

"You have done well," he said. "Oh, you have done well indeed."

And for the time not another word would he utter.