Geoffrey gave one glance at Ralph before he went. The latter nodded slightly and sharply, much as if he saw the look and perfectly comprehended it. Vera had disappeared at Marion's call. In the dining room beyond the servants were getting supper. From the distance came the pop of a cork.

Outside it was dark by this time. Geoffrey closed the window. He did not speak, but waited for Tchigorsky to give the sign. His feet touched something that gave out a faint metallic twang.

Geoffrey wondered. Did this mean burglars! He was certainly near to a wire which was stretched across the terrace, close to the ground. It was precisely the precaution taken by modern burglars to baffle capture in case of being disturbed during their predatory proceedings.

But burglars would not come to Ravenspur. A minute's reflection convinced Geoffrey of that. The name and horror of the house were known all over England. Everybody knew of the watch and ward kept there, and no burglar in his senses would risk what amounted to almost certain capture.

No, something far different was going on. And that something had been sprung hastily, for half an hour before these wires had not been there. Geoffrey waited with comfortable assurance that Tchigorsky was not far off.

A stealthy footstep crept toward him; a shadow crossed the gloom.

"Is that you, Tchigorsky?" Geoffrey whispered.

"Yes," came the reply. "There are hawks about. Listen."

A little way down the terrace something was moving. Geoffrey could hear what sounded to him like labored breathing, followed by a stifled cry of pain.

"The one hawk is wounded and the other has sheered off," said Tchigorsky.

"It sounds like a woman," said Geoffrey.

"It is a woman, my dear boy. And such a woman! Beautiful as the angels, fair as a summer's night. Clever! No words can paint her talents. And she is in the toils. She cries, but nobody heeds."

Again came the cry of pain. There was a flash and a spurt of flame as Tchigorsky struck a match and proceeded to light a lantern. He picked his way over the entanglement of wires; Geoffrey followed him.

"Who laid this labyrinth?" Geoffrey asked.

"Oh, a good and true assistant of ours, an old servant of your uncle's. We have more than one assistant, and Elphick is invaluable. We laid the trap for the bird, and she has broken her wing in it. Pity she had not broken her neck."

Geoffrey did not echo the last ferocious sentiment. He was aflame with curiosity. A little farther off in the dim path shown by the lantern's flare something dark lay huddled on the ground. There was a flash of white here and there, the shimmer and rustle of silken garments.

It might have been Geoffrey's fancy, but he seemed to hear a hurried whisper of voices, and saw something rise from the ground and hurry away. But the black and white heap remained. Tchigorsky flashed his lantern upon it. Geoffrey could just see that there was a strange malignant grin upon his face.

"A lady," he cried in affected astonishment. "Ravenspur, here is a lady! Madame permit me to tender you our assistance. You are in pain."

A white, defiant face looked up—a beautiful face disfigured for the moment by evil passions. There was murder in the eyes. The woman seemed to have no consciousness of any one but Tchigorsky.

"It is you," she hissed. "Toujours Tchigorsky."

"Yes, it is I. But I have unfortunately forgotten your name. Strange that one should do so in the case of one so lovely and distinguished. You are——"

"Mrs. May. Mrs. Mona May."

She had caught sight of Geoffrey now and a smile came, forced to her lips.

"Mrs. Mona May," said Tchigorsky. He spoke in the same slightly mocking strain. "Mrs. Mona May. How stupid of me to forget. And yet in my muddled brain the name was so different."

Geoffrey bent over the woman anxiously.

"You are in pain," he said. "May I assist you?"

"Indeed, it is very kind of you, Mr. Ravenspur," Mrs. May replied. "I tripped over something. I have hurt my ankle."

"Barbed wire," said Tchigorsky. "Laid down to trap—er—burglars."

"But on no other occasion——"

Mrs. May paused and bit her lips. Tchigorsky smiled. He understood what she was going to say. On no other occasion when she had been here had she encountered a similar obstacle.

Geoffrey was frankly puzzled.

"How did you get here?" he asked. "When the gates are closed——"

"But they were not closed an hour ago when I slipped into the yard," was the reply. "I am ashamed to say that I allowed sheer vulgar curiosity to get the better of me, and now I am properly punished for my error of taste."

"Nothing but curiosity," Tchigorsky murmured. "My dear Ravenspur, you may dismiss any unworthy suspicions from your mind. The glamor of your name and the fatal romance that clings to your race have proved too much for the most charming and most tender-hearted of her sex."

"I have no suspicions at all," said Geoffrey.

"Of course not," Tchigorsky spoke in the same mocking way. The light yet keen sarcasm was lost on Geoffrey, but the other listener understood. "Mrs. May would not injure a living creature—not a fly or a bee."

The white face flashed again. By this time the woman was on her feet. One foot she found it almost impossible to put to the ground.

"Get a conveyance and take me home," she moaned.

"Perish the thought," Tchigorsky cried. "Would the Ravenspurs outrage the sacred name of hospitality like that? Circumstances compel the life of the cloister and the recluse, but there are limits. Suspicious as the family must be, I am sure they would not fear an unfortunate lady with a sprained ankle."

"Of course not," Geoffrey observed. "I will go and prepare them."

He had read that suggestion in Tchigorsky's eyes. Heedless of Mrs. May's protests, he had vanished toward the house. Tchigorsky had stooped and taken the woman in his arms as if she had been a child.

"What a precious burden!" he said. "Scarred and battered, old Tchigorsky is a fortunate man, madam. There, you need not struggle; your little fluttering heart has no occasion to beat like that. I am not going to throw you over the cliffs."

The last few words were uttered in tones of smothered ferocity.

"You are a devil," the woman muttered.

"Ay, you are right there. Never was the devil stronger in my heart than he is at this moment. Never was I more tempted to pitch you over the terrace into the sea. But there is worse than that waiting for you."

"What are you going to do with me?"

"I am going to carry you into the house; I am going to introduce you formally to the family of Ravenspur. I am doing you a kindness. Think how useful the information afforded you will be later!"

"You are certainly the boldest man in England."

"As you are the most utterly abandoned and unscrupulous woman. I can only die once. But I am not going to die before I see you and your hellspawn all hanged."

"Why don't you denounce me now?"

"Madam, I never did care for unripe fruit. The pear is ripening on the tree, and I will pluck it when the time comes."

Tchigorsky pushed the window of the morning room open and laid his burden down on a couch.

Almost immediately Rupert Ravenspur, followed by Mrs. Gordon and Geoffrey, came into the room. Ralph was already there. Geoffrey proceeded to explain and make the necessary introduction.

"And who is this gentleman?" Rupert Ravenspur demanded, his eye on Tchigorsky.

"A friend of mine," Ralph put in, "Dr. Tchigorsky."

Ravenspur bowed, not that he looked overpleased.

"Permit me to place my hospitality at your disposal," he said. "It is many years since we entertained at Ravenspur, nor do we, in ordinary circumstances, desire them. At present I cannot do less than make you welcome. Madame, I regret that your curiosity should have ended so disastrously."

"I am properly punished," Mrs. May groaned. "My poor foot!"

In the presence of pain and suffering even Ravenspur's displeasure disappeared. Mrs. Gordon proceeded to cut away the high French boot and bathe the small foot in warm water. Almost immediately Mrs. May declared the pain to have passed away. There were tears in her eyes—tears that moved some of the onlookers.

"I am sure I don't deserve this," she said. "I have behaved so abominably that I really don't know what to say."

"Say nothing," Mrs. Gordon replied simply and gently, "but come in to supper. I understand that you are staying at Jessop's farm. A message shall be sent them that you will not return till morning. Meanwhile, if you will lean on me we will manage to reach the dining room."

The procession started. In the doorway stood Vera. She came forward with a speech of condolence. Tchigorsky was watching the pair. There was a hard gleam in his eyes; the clenching of his hand as over the hilt of a dagger. Beyond, with a face white as her dress, stood Marion.

She staggered against the table as she saw Mrs. May. Her face was full of terror. Geoffrey wondered what it all meant. And was this the wildest comedy or the direst tragedy that was working out before his eyes?