chair, which he presently drew up to the fire, he paused for a full
minute by the window, and shading the carriage lamp which he still
carried, with his hand, he looked steadily out into the darkness. A
thought struck me.

"You have seen him!" I exclaimed.

He set down the lamp upon the table, and deliberately seated himself.

"Seen whom?" he asked, producing a pipe and tobacco.

"The man who looked in--whose face I saw at the window."

He struck a match and lit his pipe.

"I have seen no one," he answered quietly. "The face was probably a
fancy of yours. I should recommend you to forget it."

I looked down at his marsh-stained shoes. One foot was wet to the
ankle, and a thin strip of green seaweed had wound itself around his
trousers. To any other man I should have had more to say. Yet even in
those first few hours of our acquaintance I had become, like all the
others, to some extent the servant of his will, spoken or unspoken. So
I held my peace and looked away into the fire. I felt he had something
to say to me, and I waited.

He moved his head slowly towards the bookcase.

"Those books," he asked, "are yours?"