ays to the left, came out
finally upon the road leading to the station, and only some fifty yards
from the bottom of the declivity.

A moment he paused, questioning the silence. He was unwilling to believe
that he had outwitted his pursuers. His nerves were strung to highest
tension, and his strange gift of semi-prescience told him that danger
was at least as imminent as ever, even though he could neither see nor
hear his enemies. Therefore, pistol in hand again, he descended to the
foot of the hill.

He remembered having noticed, when he had applied to the porter for
information respecting the residence of Ormuz Khan, that upon a window
adjoining the entrance had appeared the words "Station Master." The
station master's office, therefore, was upon the distant side of the
line.

Now came the hardest blow of all. The station was closed for the night.
Nor was there any light in the signal box. Evidently no other train
was due upon that branch line until some time in the early morning.
The level crossing gate was open, but before breaking cover he paused
a while to consider what he should do. Lower Claybury was one of those
stations which have no intimate connection with any township. The
nearest house, so far as Harley could recall, was fully twenty yards
from the spot at which he stood. Furthermore, the urgency of the case
had fired the soul of the professional investigator.

He made up his mind, and, darting out into the road, he ran across
the line, turned sharply, and did not pause until he stood before the
station master's window. Then his quick wits were put to their ultimate
test.

Right, left, it seemed from all about him, came swiftly pattering
footsteps! Instantly he divined the truth. Losing his tracks upon the
highroad above, a section of his pursuers had surrounded the station,
believing that he would head for it in retreat.

Paul Harley whipped off his coat in a flash, and using it as a ram,
smashed the window. He reached up, found the catch, and opened the sash.
In ten seconds he was in the room, and a great clatter told him that he
had overturned some piece of furniture.

Disentangling his coat, he sought and found the electric torch. He
pressed the button. No light came. It was broken! He drew a hissing
breath, and began to grope about the little room. At last his hand
touched the telephone, and, taking it up:

"Hello!" he said. "Hello!"

"Yes," came the voice of the operator--"what number?"