ignorant, thus far, of the real nature of my
errand.
"I am fortunate in finding you here to-night,"
I said. " You seem to be on the point of taking
a journey?"

"Is your business connected with my journey?"

"In some degree."

"In what degree? Do you know where I
am going to?"

"No. I only know why you are leaving
London."

He slipped by me with the quickness of
thought; locked the door of the room; and
put the key in his pocket.

"You and I, Mr. Hartright, are excellently
well acquainted with one another by reputation,"
he said. " Did it, by any chance, occur
to you when you came to this house that I was
not the sort of man you could trifle with?"

"It did occur to me," I replied. "And I
have not come to trifle with you. I am here
on a matter of life and death—and if that door
which you have locked was open at this moment,
nothing you could say or do would induce me
to pass through it."

I walked farther into the room and stood
opposite to him, on the rug before the fireplace.
He drew a chair in front of the door, and sat
down on it, with his left arm resting on the
table. The cage with the white mice was close
to him; and the little creatures scampered out
of their sleeping-place, as his heavy arm shook
the table, and peered at him through the gaps
in the smartly painted wires.

"On a matter of life and death?" he repeated
to himself. "Those words are more serious,
perhaps, than you think. What do you mean?"

"What I say."

The perspiration broke out thickly on his
broad forehead. His left hand stole over the
edge of the table. There was a drawer in it,
with a lock, and the key was in the lock. His
finger and thumb closed over the key, but did
not turn it.

"So you know why I am leaving London?"
he went on. " Tell me the reason, if you please."
He turned the key, and unlocked the drawer as
he spoke.

"I can do better than that," I replied; "I
can show you the reason, if you like."

' How can you show it?"

"You have got your coat off," I said. " Roll
up the shirt-sleeve on your left arm—and you
will see it there."

The same livid, leaden change passed over
his face, which I had seen pass over it at the
theatre. The deadly glitter in his eyes shone
steady and straight into mine. He said nothing.
But his left hand slowly opened the table drawer,
and softly slipped into it. The harsh grating
noise of something heavy that he was moving,
unseen to me, sounded for a moment—then
ceased. The silence that followed was so
intense, that the faint ticking nibble of the white
mice at their wires was distinctly audible where
I stood.

My life hung by a thread—and I knew it.
At that final moment, I thought with his mind;
I felt with his fingers—I was as certain, as if I
had seen it, of what he kept hidden from me in
the drawer.

"Wait a little," I said. " You have got the
door locked—- you see I don't move—you see
my hands are empty. Wait a little. I have
something more to say."

"You have said enough," he replied, with a
sudden composure, so unnatural and so ghastly
that it tried my nerves as no outbreak of
violence could have tried them. " I want one
moment for my own thoughts, if you please.
Do you guess what I am thinking about?"

"Perhaps I do."

"I am thinking," he said, " whether I shall
add to the disorder in this room, by scattering
your brains about the fireplace."

If I had moved at that moment, I saw in his
face that he would have done it.

"I advise you to read two lines of writing
which I have about me," I rejoined, " before
you finally decide that question."

The proposal appeared to excite his curiosity.
He nodded his head. I took Pesca's
acknowledgment of the receipt of my letter out of my
pocket-book; handed it to him at arm's length;
and returned to my former position in front of
the fireplace.

He read the lines aloud: " ' Your letter is
received. If I don't hear from you before the
time you mention, I will break the seal when
the clock strikes.'"

Another man, in his position, would have
needed some explanation of those words—the
Count felt no such necessity. One reading of
the note showed him the precaution that I had
taken, as plainly as if he had been present at the
time when I adopted it. The expression of his
face changed on the instant; and his hand came
out of the drawer, empty.

"I don't lock up my drawer, Mr. Hartright,"
he said; "and I don't say that I may not
scatter your brains about the fireplace, yet. But
I am a just man, even to my enemy—and I will
acknowledge, beforehand, that they are cleverer
brains than I thought them. Come to the point,
sir! You want something of me?"

"I do—and I mean to have it."

"On conditions?"

"On no conditions."

His hand dropped into the drawer again.

"Bah! we are travelling in a circle," he said;
"and those clever brains of yours are in danger
again. Your tone is deplorably imprudent,
sir—moderate it on the spot! The risk of
shooting you on the place where you stand, is
less to me, than the risk of letting you out of
this house, except on conditions that I dictate
and approve. You have not got my lamented
friend to deal with, now—you are face to face
with Fosco! If the lives of twenty Mr.
Hartrights were the stepping-stones to my safety,
over all those stones I would go, sustained by
my sublime indifference, self-balanced by
my impenetrable calm. Respect me, if you love your