heap of black ashes that had been a paper and a scrap of charred and tarry string. Roger's questioning of the Widow Dargeon gave him little satisfaction. She vowed she had seen no one pass in or out; but ever and anon she looked furtively out at the window, twisting her apron.
"As Roger pulled off his boots that night, he caught sight of a torn bit of paper which had fluttered under the bed, perhaps from the document burned at the table. It was a small corner, torn across, and only these words were legible: ". . . rocks of Ra . . . for which we agre . . . sum of £20 . . .' Roger could make neither head nor tail of it, and went to sleep, worn out with a deal of trudging and excitement.
"It might have been almost any hour of the night, when he woke with his heart thumping and the knowledge that something was in his room. He lay deathly still, and heard a cautious, groping hand feeling, feeling, ever nearer to him. Finally it passed over his face, cold and wet with salt fog, and he had much ado to keep silent. A whisper so faint that it seemed scarcely real breathed at his ear.
"'Go, Kalikao!' it said. 'Go while you may!'
