It was nearing dawn when Vera came to herself out of an uneasy slumber. The darkest hour that precedes the faint flush in the eastern sky was moving away. There was a light in the room.

Vera rubbed her eyes wondering. It was one of her fancies to have no light in her room. Better to lie with horrors she could not see than have the glimmer from a nightlight filling every corner with threatening shadows.

Vera sat up in bed, forgetting for the moment that she had a racking headache. Something had happened while she slept. Something was always happening in that house of fears, so that Vera was conscious of no new alarm. In a big easy chair at the foot of the bed Marion reclined, fast asleep.

Vera checked an impulse to wake her. In that miserable household sleep was the most blessed of all luxuries. Why, then, should Marion be disturbed? Doubtless she had come there to protect and, doubtless the girl would know all about it in the morning.

"I will not wake her," Vera murmured.

But she could not sleep herself. The splitting, blinding headache was very much in evidence just now. Vera felt that she would give anything for a glass of cold spring water. She poured out that in her own bottle, but it was flat and tepid.

She would go down into the stone-flagged outer kitchen, where the pump was, and get some fresh. In any case, she had not the least idea of going to bed again. Vera partly dressed herself, doing up her hair in a big shining knot, and then, in slippered feet, crept down to the kitchen. She had no need of a light—there was already enough to show the way.

How cool and refreshing the water was! She drank a glass and then laved her face in the crystal fluid. All headache was gone by this time, though Vera had a curious trembling of her lower limbs that she could not account for.

She opened a side door leading into a green quadrangle, and from there made her way to the terrace. For a few minutes she stood in a dark angle facing the house, just picked out, as it was, from the gloom. Along the dim corridor some one was advancing with a light.

What could it mean? What was going on? Vera crouched close into the dark corner. She had an idea that she was going to witness something.

The light in the corridor stopped and grew brighter. From the black shadow of the house a human figure crept out and slid along the terrace to a spot where it was just possible for a man of strong courage and cool head to make his way down to the beach at low tide. At high water the sea swept the foot of the cliff.

Vera strained her eyes to make out the figure. It passed so close to her that she might have touched the hem of the white diaphanous garment about it; a faint, sour kind of perfume was in the air. These swiftly flying feet made not the slightest noise. Vera guessed at once that this was one of the Orientals whom she and Geoffrey had seen along the cliffs on a memorable occasion.

She was not far wrong. If not the same, they belonged to the same noisome band. Almost before Vera could recover from her surprise another figure followed.

Vera watched with intense eagerness. Slight and frail though she was, she was not in the least afraid. She came from the wrong race for that. She had made up her mind to know what was going on even if she ran some danger in obtaining the knowledge. And what did that light mean?

She was soon to know. Presently another figure came along, a tall figure which in the gloom bore a strong resemblance to Tchigorsky. The figure wore boots and a European dress and did not seek concealment. By its side was yet another figure also clad in European dress.

"You say this is the place?" the latter man whispered in indifferent English.

"Yes, yes," was the reply, in still more indifferent English. "It is to this place that my master, Dr. Tchigorsky, bade me bring you. And there is the signal."

The light in the corridor waved again.

"I am not satisfied," the stranger muttered. "I am in great danger."

"But not here," the other said eagerly. "Nobody knows you are here. The princess has not the least idea of your presence. And Dr. Tchigorsky, my master, bade me hunt for you until I found you. And I have done it."

"Oh, yes, you have done it right enough. And Dr. Tchigorsky would not have sent for me unless there had been danger. But why not meet him in daylight in a proper and natural manner?"

The other spat gravely on the pavement.

"The doctor is a great man," he said. "He knows. Would you have your enemies to guess that you have seen my master? That is why I bring you here at night. That is why there is the great secret."

The tall man muttered something that sounded like an acknowledgment of the force and cogency of this reasoning.

"I dare say it is all right," he said. "Fetch your master."

The servant salaamed and departed in the direction of the house. He returned presently with the information that Tchigorsky had gone along the terrace. There was a summer house a little way off, where Tchigorsky waited.

Vera felt her heart beating faster. There was no summer house along the terrace—nothing but a broken balustrade that Rupert Ravenspur was always going to have mended. Over this there was a sheer drop to the sea below.

As the pair moved on, Vera followed. Then what followed seemed to happen in the twinkling of an eye. A white-robed figure emerged and flung himself upon the stranger. At the same time the other miscreant, who had acted as Tchigorsky's servant, attacked him from behind.

"You rascals," the stranger cried, speaking this time in French. "So I have been deceived. You are going to throw me over the cliff. There is no escape for me. Well, I don't much mind. The agony of suspense has taken all the sweetness out of life for me. I knew that sooner or later this was bound to come. But I am going to take a toll."

The stranger's breath was coming rapidly between his teeth. Vera tried to scream, but no sound emerged from her lips. She stood rooted to the spot, watching what seemed to her a long one-sided struggle. As a matter of fact, it had not lasted more than ten seconds. Gradually the stranger was forced back.

Back and back they forced him to the very edge of the cliff. There was no escape for him now. He reached out two long and swinging hands; he grasped two arms, one for each of his would-be assassins, and then he jumped backwards. Two fearful wailing yells rent the air; there was a mocking laugh, and silence.

Had she really seen this thing or had she dreamed it? Vera was not sure. Just for a brief moment her senses left her. When she came to herself again she crept along to the house and thence to her bedroom. She locked the door and flung herself upon the bed, pressing her hands to her eyes.

"How long will it last?" she murmured. "How long can one endure this and live? Oh, Heaven! is there no mercy for us?"

Then the blessed mantle of oblivion fell again.