"So they've got at us at last," he observed to Symon.
The man in the black robe was leaning against the wall some yards
away, with a smile carved on his face.
"Here comes Colonel Morris," went on Twyford, still speaking to
Symon. "One of us will have to tell him how the light went out. Will
you?"
But Symon still said nothing. He was standing as still as a statue,
and looking steadily at the black velvet behind the glass screen. He
was looking at the black velvet because there was nothing else to
look at. St. Paul's Penny was gone.
Colonel Morris entered the room with two new visitors; presumably
two new sightseers delayed by the accident. The foremost was a tall,
fair, rather languid-looking man with a bald brow and a high-bridged
nose; his companion was a younger man with light, curly hair and
frank, and even innocent, eyes. Symon scarcely seemed to hear the
newcomers; it seemed almost as if he had not realized that the
return of the light revealed his brooding attitude. Then he started
in a guilty fashion, and when he saw the elder of the two strangers,
his pale face seemed to turn a shade paler.
"Why it's Horne Fisher!" and then after a pause he said in a low
voice, "I'm in the devil of a hole, Fisher."
"There does seem a bit of a mystery to be cleared up," observed the
gentleman so addressed.
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