"Well?" asked Frank, sharply. "If we meet?"
"One of you will die."
In spite of his scepticism Lancaster felt a chill run through his veins at this speech. "Rubbish!" he said, roughly. "Which one?"
"I sha'n't tell you that," replied the unknown. "You may consider my reply rubbish also. But there is that in your face, sir, which hints at coming trouble. Your fate and the fate of the red-headed man are bound up together. Also, there is a woman."
"How do you know that?" asked Frank, thinking of Fan.
"She is a relative of the red-headed man," said the unknown, "and it is probably--" Here he broke off abruptly. "I sha'n't tell you any more. I may be wrong, I may be right, but the signs are there."
"What signs?"
"Good-night, sir," said the man, and passed swiftly away before Frank could retain him. Lancaster walked to his rooms without returning to the theatre. He laughed at the warning, so vague and absurd did it seem. All the same it haunted him, and he had cause to remember the man afterwards. He never saw the seer again, but, as after events proved, undoubtedly the man was no charlatan.