n the room of the girl he loved?

"Go on," the leader was repeating. "Let me hear the whole truth."

"I--I--" stammered the girl, and she could say no more.

The man of the sneer laughed unpleasantly. "Let me help you. It was
somebody you met somewhere--on the train, perhaps, and you couldn't
help smiling at him, eh? You smiled so much, in fact, that he followed
you and found that you had come here. The only way he could get in
was by stealth. Is that right? So he came in exactly that way, like a
robber, but really only to keep a tryst with his lady love? A pretty
story, a true romance! I begin to see why you find me such a dull
fellow, my dear girl."

"John--" began Ruth Tolliver, her voice shaking.

"Tush," he broke in as smoothly as ever. "Let me tell the story for
you and spare your blushes. When I sent you for Harry Morgan you found
Lochinvar in the very act of slugging the poor fellow. You helped him
tie Morgan; then you took him here to your room; although you were
glad to see him, you warned him that it was dangerous to play with
fire--fire being me. Do I gather the drift of the story fairly well?
Finally you have him worked up to the right pitch. He is convinced
that a retreat would be advantageous, if possible. You show him that
it is possible. You point out the ledge under your window and the easy
way of working to the ground. Eh?"

"Yes," said the girl unevenly. "That is--"

"Ah!" murmured the man of the sneer. "You seem rather relieved that I
have guessed he left the house. In that case--"

Ronicky Doone had held the latch of the door turned back for some
time. Now he pushed it open and stepped out. He was only barely in
time, for the man of the sneer was turning quickly in his direction,
since there was only one hiding place in the room.

He was brought up with a shock by the sight of Ronicky's big Colt,
held at the hip and covering him with absolute certainty. Ruth
Tolliver did not cry out, but every muscle in her face and body seemed
to contract, as if she were preparing herself for the explosion.

"You don't have to put up your hands," said Ronicky Doone, wondering
at the familiarity of the face of the man of the sneer. He had brooded
on it so often in the past few days that it was like the face of an
old acquaintance. He knew every line in that sharp profile.

"Thank you," responded the leader, and, turning to the girl, he said
coldly: "I congratulate you on your good taste. A regular Apoll