For a moment neither spoke.

"Dear boy, how late you sit up!" said Mr. Francis, coming into the room; "it has already struck one. You were asleep, I think, when I came in, and I was unwilling to awake you. But now tell me, is Harry all right?"

Geoffrey by this time had every sense alert: he felt perfectly cool and collected, and saw his policy stretching away in front of him like a level, well-defined road.

"Yes, Harry, by a miracle almost, is alive and unhurt," he said.

"Ah! I knew it, I knew it," said Mr. Francis below his breath.

Geoffrey paused a moment.

"You knew what?" he asked very deliberately.

"I knew he had been in great danger," said the other; "I had the strongest premonition of it. You remember seeing me this morning come back after I had started? I came back to warn Harry. Yet how absurd he would think it! I was deliberating about that when you saw me at the door, and wondering what I could say to him.[Pg 256] Then I told myself it was a ridiculous fancy of mine, which would pass off. But all day it has clung to me; do what I would, I could not shake it off; and this evening I came down here to see if all was well. You spoke of Harry having been in great danger. Tell me what happened, my dear boy."

"He nearly shot himself in the gun room this morning," said Geoffrey. "He took up his gun, which was standing in a rack close to the window, and it went off, narrowly missing him!"

"But it missed him completely?" asked Mr. Francis. "He was not touched?"

"If he had been touched he would not be alive," said Geoffrey, lighting a cigarette, and looking at Mr. Francis very intently. "The velocity of shot at such very short range is considerable."

Mr. Francis made a very slight movement in his chair, more of a tremor than a voluntary motion.

"Terrible, terrible!" he said. "What awful fate is it that dogs poor Harry?"

Geoffrey paused with mouth half open, a little wreath of smoke curling from the corner of it.

"In what other way has an awful fate dogged Harry?" he asked.

Mr. Francis replied almost immediately.

"Those three accidents he had last spring," he said. "How strange they were! They quite unnerved me."

"He was thinking of the ice house," said[Pg 257] Geoffrey to himself with absolute certainty. "That was a mistake." Then, aloud. "They were not so very serious," he said.

"No, but uncomfortable. And then to-day!"

"Yesterday, you mean," said Geoffrey, trying to trap him.

Mr. Francis looked up inquiringly.

"True, yesterday. How exact you are, my dear fellow! I had forgotten that it was, as the Irish say, to-morrow already. But how awful, how awful! That was what my strange premonition meant."

"It is odd that your premonition should have lasted all day," said Geoffrey, "when the danger was over by half past ten this morning."

For half a second Mr. Francis\'s face altered. The perturbed, anxious look which he had worn throughout the interview gave place, though but for a moment, to a trouble of a different type. Annoyance, you would have said, became more poignant than his anxiety.

"Yes; the whole feeling I had was unaccountable," he said. "But poor Harry! What an awful moment for the dear lad! But how could a cartridge have been in the gun? What frightful carelessness on Kimber\'s part! He can not have cleaned it after Harry used it last."

Again Geoffrey paused with his mouth slightly open. Mr. Francis, he considered, was on dangerous ground.

"That was in February," he said; "eight[Pg 258] months ago. I can not imagine, somehow, the cartridge being there all this time."

"He was shooting in Scotland, was he not?" asked Mr. Francis.

"Yes; but a man would not carry a loaded gun in the parcel rack," said Geoffrey. "It is more usual for a gun to be taken to bits, and put in its case when one goes by train. Besides, as a matter of fact, Harry didn\'t take that gun to Scotland. There are other circumstances as well which lead me, at any rate, to a different conclusion—a different way of accounting for the accident," he corrected himself.

"What circumstances?" asked Mr. Francis. "Do get on, my dear boy: I am in dreadful anxiety to learn all about this awful thing. Oh, thank God, there was no harm done!"

Before the words were out of his mouth Geoffrey, who for the moment had hesitated what to tell him, made up his mind. He stifled a yawn, and splashed some whisky and soda into his glass.

"Oh, various circumstances," he said in a slow, well-balanced tone of indifference, as if the subject were wearisome. "One, of course, must be well known to you. You had used Harry\'s gun yourself two days ago—the day we came down here. You wounded a hare, do you not remember, close to the pheasant feed, and returned home after firing only one shot? You also, unconsciously no doubt, transferred the second cartridge from the left barrel to the right. You will hardly remember that? But it explains,[Pg 259] at least, why the left barrel was clean. Then your idle rascal of a man, who I am told always cleans your gun, omitted to do it, and there remained a cartridge in it. That, at least, is how Harry and I put the thing together!"

Mr. Francis\'s hands went suddenly to his head, as if they had been on wires, and he clutched despairingly at his hair.

"It is true—it is all too true!" he moaned. "I did use Harry\'s gun. I did fire one shot only two days ago. Can I have left the other cartridge in? It is possible, it is terribly possible. Ah, my God! what an awful punishment for a little piece of carelessness! Ah, what a lesson, what a lesson! Supposing he had shot himself—oh! supposing——"

Geoffrey watched him for some few moments in silence, as he rocked himself backward and forward in his chair.

"Well, well," he said at length, "there is no harm done. A few shillings\' worth of lath and plaster will pay for the damage; oh, yes, and an extra penny for the cartridge, as Harry said. But it nearly filled the bag and something more at one shot, like Mr. Winkle."

This very cold and unsympathetic consolation had an astonishing effect on Mr. Francis. His rockings ceased, his hands left his head, and by degrees his face again assumed a sad smile.

"Dear lad," he said, "you have such invaluable common sense! There is certainly no use in crying over milk which is not spilt. What[Pg 260] you said was like a douche of cold water over an aching head; yes, and an aching heart. But, tell me, is Harry very angry with me? Does he blame me, as he has every right to do, very severely?"

"No, he is inclined to laugh at the whole thing," said Geoffrey. "He knows, of course, what a simple and in a way a natural accident it all was. He is no more angry than he was yesterday, when——" and he stopped suddenly, remembering his promise to Harry not to tell Mr. Francis of the ice-house occurrence. But dearly would he have liked to have broken his word.

Again a remarkable change took place in Mr. Francis\'s face; and Geoffrey, even in the middle of this midnight fencing match, thought what a marvellous quick-change artist he would have made if only he had decided to devote his undeniable talents to that innocuous branch of art. His smile was not: a frightened man sat there, moving his lips as if his mouth were dry.

"Yesterday—what of yesterday?" he asked.

"Nothing," said the other shortly. "I, like yourself just now, had forgotten that it was already to-morrow. Do you know, I am very sleepy?"

This was not ill done, for Mr. Francis could scarcely refuse to accept an excuse which he had himself offered, and Geoffrey could scarcely prevent smiling. But as soon as Mr. Francis spoke again, he was again absolutely intent on their conversation.

[Pg 261]

"It is too bad to keep you up," said he, "but positively you must tell me more about this dreadful accident. What else, what else?"

"There is nothing more—to tell," said Geoffrey, pausing designedly, for his immediate object was now to thoroughly frighten Mr. Francis, and he meant to do it slowly and firmly. "What more, indeed, could there be? It was over in a moment. Partly, I am afraid, by your fault, partly by your man\'s, a cartridge was left in Harry\'s gun. Oh! by the way, since you are anxious for minuti?, there is one more tiny point that might conceivably interest you. There seemed to me—I happened to be looking at Harry—some slight resistance somewhere when he took the gun up. He took hold of it, you understand, and then gave it a jerk. It has occurred to me, very forcibly in fact, that this resistance, whatever it was, was the cause of the gun going off."

"The trigger perhaps caught in the edge of the carpet," suggested Mr. Francis.

"I don\'t think so," said Geoffrey carelessly.

"Well, something of the kind," said Mr. Francis. "Or, again, it may have been pure imagination on your part."

"I don\'t think that either," said Geoffrey. "A gun even when loaded and at full cock, as this one must have been, does not naturally go off when handled. Besides, I found, when I examined the place——" He stopped suddenly, and looked up at Mr. Francis. Quick as a lizard, fear[Pg 262] unmistakable and shaking leaped there for a moment, and was as quickly gone.

"You found—?" he asked, under his breath.

"Ah! you remind me: I found a little thing, a very little thing, which may, however, turn out to be important. Oh, it is ridiculous! I can not really tell you. I will keep it to myself, please."

"Really, my dear Geoffrey," said Mr. Francis, "you tell a story, and stop when you come to the point."

"I know," said Geoffrey, "and I apologize. Anyhow, I have made a scrupulous examination of the place, and have taken note of a small circumstance. Again I apologize."

Suddenly this nocturnal visit began to show in a different light in Geoffrey\'s mind. Mr. Francis had come here, it is true, at an hour when he might reasonably expect the house to be in bed, but it was still unlikely that he had taken this trouble, and run even so small a risk of detection, simply to learn the result of the morning\'s accident. What if he had come here for something more reasonable—to destroy, perhaps, some little piece of evidence, the evidence it might be which lay even now in Geoffrey\'s cigarette case?

"Of course I will not press you, my dear Geoffrey," he replied. "But consider whether it would not be better to tell me."

Geoffrey paused, this time because he really wanted to think.

"Why?" he said at length. "Either this occurrence was pure accident, or it was a foul attempt[Pg 263] on Harry\'s life. Yes, that sounds horrible, does it not? But certainly it was either the one or the other. Now, carelessness seems to account very largely for it. You left a cartridge in the gun, your servant did not clean it. But supposing one had reason to think that there was foul play, I should take this evidence to the police; and you may be sure, at whatever cost to Harry\'s feelings, and of course yours, at making the affair public, I will do so at once, the moment I can form, or that I think they can form, a conclusive series of evidence."

He got up on these words and turned to light a bedroom candle.

"Well, good-night," he said; "we shall see you at breakfast."

"No, my dear boy, you will not," said Mr. Francis; "and, Geoffrey, you must not tell Harry I have been here. I am almost ashamed of my foolishness in coming, but that presentiment of evil, which was so strong in me all day, drove me. No, I shall be gone again, before any one is stirring, and breakfasting in town while you lazy fellows are still dressing, I dare say."

Geoffrey thought a moment.

"As you will," he said. "By the way, how did you get in?"

"I got in by the front door," said Mr. Francis. "It was left unlocked; very careless of the servants."

"Very, indeed. Did you lock it?"

"Yes, and I was just stealing upstairs when[Pg 264] you awoke. I had meant to go very quietly to Harry\'s room, and just look at the dear lad, to satisfy myself he was all right. If I had not had the good fortune to find the door open, I should have passed the night in the summerhouse, and just seen that all was well in the morning. I hope Harry will speak to Templeton about the door."

"But how will Harry know, unless he knows of your coming?"

"Ah!" Mr. Francis paused a moment. "I will leave it unlocked; indeed I must, when I go out. You can then call his attention to it. Good-night, my dear boy; I shall go to my room too. I will sleep on the sofa very comfortably."

Geoffrey turned into his room with slow and sleepy steps, shut the door and locked it. Then he undressed very quickly, and over his nightshirt put on a dark coat. He was too full of this appearance of Mr. Francis, and of wonder what it really meant, to waste time in mere idle contemplation of it, and he sat on his bed, following out end after end of tangled conjecture.

Harry\'s safety during the hours which had to pass before morning was his first thought, but that he speedily dismissed. "I have frightened the old man," he said to himself with strong satisfaction. "I have made him tremble in his wicked shoes. No, he dare do nothing to-night. There is a witness that he is here, that he arrived secretly after dark, and left before morning. No, Harry is all safe for to-night, but I am glad I woke."

Geoffrey lay back on his bed, keenly interested[Pg 265] in what lay before him, but astounded by the possibly imminent issues. Hitherto his life had always run very easily, a pleasant, light business; but now suddenly there were thrust into his young and inexperienced hands the red reins of life and death, reins that governed or governed not horses that he could but indistinctly guess at. But the reins were in his hands; it was his business, and now, to steer as well as he could between God knew what devils and deep seas. A thousand directions were open to him; in all but one, as far as he could forecast the future, lay disaster. A solution and a rescue he felt there must be, but in what direction did it lie? To go now to Harry\'s room, what risk was there, what fear of eyes behind curtains; and once there, what sort of reception would he meet? Harry had gone to bed nearly three hours ago, and must he be plucked from his sleep to hear this wild tale—a tale so full of conjecture, so scant in certainties? And if he heard it, what, to judge by Geoffrey\'s previous knowledge of him, his only guide in this lonely hour, would be his manner of taking it? One only, he knew it well: bewildered surprise and scorn that one whom he had accounted friend should bring him so monstrous a tale. That he must certainly expect, indignant speech, or silence even more indignant, and a rupture that could not easily be healed. No, to go to Harry now would in all probability mean to sever himself from him, and this in the hour of dark need and danger.

Geoffrey got up from where he was lying and[Pg 266] walked silently with bare feet up and down the room. Then he stripped off coat and nightshirt, and sluiced head and neck with cold water. He felt awake enough, but stupid from sheer perplexity, and he was determined to give his faculties, such as they were, every opportunity for lively and wise decision. There had been, for instance, some train of instinctive thought in his mind when he had shut the door, but dressed himself for possible action. His brain had told him that he did not mean to go to bed yet; had it not told him something more? His action in putting on dark coverings had been perhaps involuntary; it was his business now to account for it.

Ah! the door by which Mr. Francis had entered—that was it. He did not believe that he had come in, as he said, by the front door, for the noise of its opening and shutting—the noise, too, of the lock which he said he had turned after he had come in—must have awoke him from a sleep that had never quite become unconsciousness. A clock had struck, it is true, the moment before he was completely roused, and he had not heard it; but how often, he reflected, do one\'s ears hear the clock strike, yet never convey the message to the brain! It was far more likely that the slight stir of movement made by Mr. Francis as he peeped round the inner door leading to the staircase had awoke him. How, then, was it possible that he should have opened, shut, and locked the heavy front door, have crossed the hall, and yet never have broken in upon his doze? Besides, the[Pg 267] face that looked at him was that of a man peeping into a room, not of one leaving it. It seemed then very likely that Mr. Francis had not entered by the front door; it was also hardly possible that it should not have been locked at nightfall by the servant who put up the shutters.

Then another difficulty occurred. Since Mr. Francis had by his own account locked the front door when he came in, it would be locked now. But he intended to leave the house before the servants were up, and would unlock it then, leaving it unlocked when he left. On the other hand, supposing that Geoffrey\'s suspicions were correct, and he had not come in by the front door, nor intended to leave the house that way, he would certainly unlock it before any one was about in the morning. This, then, was the first point: Would Mr. Francis unlock the front door before morning, and would he leave the house that way? If not, how had he got in, and how would he get out? It was likely also, more than likely, that if Geoffrey\'s darker suspicions were well founded, Mr. Francis would pay a visit to the gun room, for there was no question that "the little circumstance" which he had hinted at had been of more than common interest to the other.

At this moment, in his soft pacings and thoughts, there came a little gentle tap at his door. He stood exactly where he was, frozen to immobility, a step half taken, in his hand the towel with which he had been mopping his hair. A second or two later the tap was repeated, very softly.

[Pg 268]

Geoffrey was in two minds what to do. It was possible that this small-hour intruder was Harry, some nameless terror at his heart; it was possible, again, that Mr. Francis was outside, ascertaining whether he was asleep, with some specious excuse on his lips in case he was awake. But if it was Harry, whatever he needed, some louder and more urgent summons was sure to follow—a rattling of his door handle, his own name called. But after the second tap there was silence.

Geoffrey knew how long a waiting minute seems to the watcher, and deliberately he looked at the hands of the clock on his mantelpiece till two full minutes had passed. Then he slipped on his coat again, little runnels of water still streaming from the short hair above the neck, put the matches in his pocket, blew out his candle, and with one turn of each hand held his door unlatched and unlocked. The wards were well oiled, the noise less than a scratching mouse, and he stood on the rug of the threshold warm and curly to his bare feet. Next moment he had closed the door behind him, though without latching it, and was in the long, dark corridor running from the top of the main stairs by the hall to the far end of the house where were Mr. Francis\'s two rooms.

Geoffrey\'s bedroom was close to the head of the stairs, and the faint glimmer of the starry night filtering through the skylight by which they were lit made it easily possible to find his way down. These stairs lay in short flights, with[Pg 269] many angles sufficiently luminous, but on getting to the first corner he stopped suddenly, for on the wall in front of him was a pattern of strong light and shade: the many-knobbed banister was imprinted there, cast by a candle. But in a moment the shadow began to march from left to right; the light therefore was moving from right to left; some one else, and well he knew who, was also going downstairs at this dead hour, three turns of the staircase ahead of him. Silently moved the shadow; no sound of the candle-bearer reached him, and he might reasonably hope that his own barefooted step was as inaudible to the n............