THE SHEATH OF THE DAGGER

That was one of those supremely trying moments which occur, I suppose, once or twice in the lives of most men, when events demand to be fully explained while time will on no account permit of the explanation. I felt that I must know at once the reason and purpose of Sir Cyril’s presence with me in the underground chamber, and that I could do nothing further until I had such knowledge. And yet I also felt that explanations must inevitably wait until the scene enacting above us was over. I stood for a second silent, irresolute. The match went out.

“Are you here to protect her?” whispered Sir Cyril.

“Yes, if she is in danger. I will tell you afterwards about things. And you?”