Next instant I sprang to my feet. The reason of her cry was apparent,
for there, in the full light of the golden sunset streaming through the
long open windows, stood a broad-shouldered, fair-bearded man in tennis
flannels and a Panama hat--the fugitive I knew as Philip Hornby!

I faced him, speechless.




CHAPTER IV

IN WHICH THE MYSTERY INCREASES


Neither of us spoke. Equally surprised at the unexpected encounter, we
stood facing each other dumbfounded.

Hornby started quickly as soon as his eyes fell upon me, and his face
became blanched to the lips, while Muriel Leithcourt, quick to notice
the sudden change in him, rose and introduced us in as calm a voice as
she could command.

"I don't think you are acquainted," she said to me with a smile. "This
is Mr. Martin Woodroffe--Mr. Gordon Gregg."

I bowed to him in sudden resolve to remain silent in pretense that I
doubted whether the man before me was actually my host of the _Lola_. I
intended to act as though I was not sufficiently convinced to openly