The ever-widening black strip in the door on the first night, the clutch at his throat and the leap from the cupboard on the second, the silent watching of those five pairs of eyes on the third, and the lackey with the knife in his breast hopping with both feet horribly across the floor,--the horror of these recollections swept in upon him and changed him from a man into a timorous child.

He lay and shuddered until in every creak of the branches he heard the whisper of an enemy, in every flutter of leaves across the lawn a stealthy footstep, and behind every tree-stem he caught the flap of a cloak.
Stiff and sore, he raised himself from the ground, he groped for his boots and coat, and putting them on moved cautiously through the trees, supporting himself from stem to stem.

He came to the borders of a wide, smooth lawn, and on the farther side stood the house,--a long, two-storeyed house with level tiers of windows stretching to the right and the left, and a bowed tower in the middle.

Through one of the windows in the ground-floor Wogan saw the spark of a lamp, and about that window a fan of yellow light was spread upon the lawn.
Wogan at this moment felt in great need of companionship.

He stole across the lawn and looked into the room.