he was saying to himself, when
sharp, quick, sinister, the knocking recommenced, demanding admission,
insisting upon attention, drawing him against his own will to his feet,
and finally, though he made more than one stand against it, to the very
door.

"Who's there?" he asked, imperiously and with some show of anger.

No answer, but another quiet knock.

"Speak! or go from my door. No one has the right to intrude here. What
is your name and business?"

Continued knocking--nothing more.

With an outburst of wrath, which made the hangar ring, Orlando lifted
his fist to answer this appeal in his own fierce fashion from his own
side of the door, but the impulse paused at fulfilment, and he let his
arm fall again in a rush of self-hatred which it would have pained his
worst enemy, even little Doris, to witness. As it reached his side, the
knock came again.

It was too much. With an oath, Orlando reached for his key. But before
fitting it into the lock, he cast a look behind him. The car was in
plain sight, filling the central space from floor to roof. A single
glance from a stranger's eye, and its principal secret would be a secret
no longer. He must not run such a risk. Before he answered this call,
he must drop the curtain he had rigged up against such emergencies
as these. He had but to pull a cord and a veil would fall before his
treasure, concealing it as effectually as an Eastern bride is concealed
behind her yashmak.

Stepping to the wall, he drew that cord, then with an impatient sigh,
returned to the door.

Another quiet but insistent knock greeted him. In no fury now, but with
a vague sense of portent which gave an aspect of farewell to the one
quick glance he cast about the well-known spot, he fitted the key in the
lock, and stood ready to turn it.

"I ask again your name and your business," he shouted out in loud
command. "Tell them or--" He meant to say, "or I do not turn this key."
But something withheld the threat. He knew that it would perish in the
utterance; that he could not carry it out. He would have to open the
door now, response or no response. "Speak!" was the word with which he
finished his demand.

A final knock.

Pulling a pistol from his pocket, with his left hand, he turned the key
with his right.

The door remained unopened.

Stepping slowly back, he stared at its unpainted boards for a moment,
then he spoke up quietly, almost courteously:

"Enter."

But the command passed