Having seen the back of the departing stranger, Nadia fled up the stairs to the room of her brother, who was lying on a couch and seeking to divert his mind by reading. He did not note that she was pale and agitated as she came in, but he saw her hurriedly cross the room to a window that commanded a view of the road which wound down toward the rim of Lochleven, where she drew aside the curtain and stood peering out.

"What is it, sis?" he yawned. "What do you see?"

She did not answer.

"Eh?" he exclaimed, putting down the book. "What are you staring at, Nadia?"

"Come here!" she whispered hoa.r.s.ely.

Her manner and tone caused him to sit up at once.

"Is anything the matter?"

"Come quickly!"

He hurried to the window.

"Look!" she urged, clutching at his arm with her trembling fingers. "See that man going down the road?"

The stranger who had lately departed from the inn was walking briskly away, the cape of his dark cloak flapping about him, his head bent to the chill wind that was blowing. His figure, in spite of the folds of the cloak, seemed slender and graceful.

"I see him," said Dunbar.

"He was here a few moments ago-in this house!"

"Well?"

"Do you see nothing familiar about him?"

"Why, it seems as if I-I--By the Lord Harry! I believe--"

Budthorne checked himself.

"You believe what? Who is it?"

"Nadia, it looks like Bunol."

"Yes, it looks like him."

"But it can't be! Did you see his face?"

"No, nothing but his back as he pa.s.sed out at the door."

"It can't be Bunol," repeated Budthorne.

"Why not?"

"How could he trace us here?"

"How could he trace us to Edinburgh? How much easier to trace us from Edinburgh here than from London to Edinburgh!"

"I think he appeared in Edinburgh by chance, without knowing we were there."

"I do not," declared the girl decidedly. "I think he followed us in some manner."

Budthorne did not like to believe this.

"You give him credit for the ac.u.men of a Sherlock Holmes. Bunol is no detective."

"He is a human bloodhound! You do not know how much I fear him, Dunbar."

"You say that man was here in this house a few minutes ago?"

"Yes."

"You have seen the landlady since?"

"Yes."

"And questioned her?"

"I asked her who he was."

"Her answer?"

"She said he gave his name as Henri Clairvaux, of Paris."

"Then it is not Bunol, sister. Why are you so agitated? It is merely a resemblance. Were we to see his face, I am sure it would prove to be that of a perfect stranger."

Suddenly she shrank back, lowering the curtain until she had partly concealed herself behind it.

"Look!" she exclaimed. "He has stopped before entering the woods! He has turned to look back! He has pushed the hat up from his forehead to get a better view! Look, Dunbar! Even at this distance you cannot fail to recognize him!"

"By Jove, you're right, Nadia! It is Bunol, himself! Satan take the scoundrel! What is he trying to do?"

"He has located us here, and he will try to get you into his clutches again, Dunbar."

"Confound him! He wants to keep away from me! I've had enough of him!

He'll find his day with me is past! He is wasting his time."

"I fear him more than any one else in all the world," confessed the girl.

"Don't you be afraid, Nadia," said her brother. "I'll protect you."

"But that man's eyes-you cannot resist their evil power."

"Don't you believe it! I'm stronger now than I was. I have conquered my weakness for drink, and that was what enabled him to deceive me."

He truly thought he had conquered, but the girl realized that the battle had only just begun, and that it was her influence and her watchfulness that had kept him from drinking since the night of the exposure in London.