door plate. He read it three or four times before
resolutely pressing the electric button. Then he looked over his
shoulder quickly, impelled by the queer feeling that some one was
behind him, towering like a dark, threatening shadow. A rough hand
seemed ready to close upon his shoulder to drag him back and down. But
no one was there. He was alone in the little hall. And yet something
was there. He could feel it, though he could not see it; something
sinister that caused him to shiver. His tense fingers relaxed their
grip on the revolver. Strangely the vague thing that disturbed him
departed in a flash and he felt himself alone once more. It was very
odd, thought he.

Rachel came to the door. She started back in surprise, aye, alarm,
when she saw the little man in the big ulster. A look of consternation
sprang into her black eyes.

He opened his lips to put the natural question, but paused with the
words unuttered. The sound of voices in revelry came to his ears from
the interior of the apartment, remote but very insistent. Men's voices
and women's voices raised in merriment. His gaze swept the exposed
portion of the hall. Packing boxes stood against the wall, piled high.
The odour of camphor came out and smote his sense of smell.

Rachel was speaking. Her voice was peculiarly hushed and the words
came quickly, jerkily from her lips.

"Miss Duluth is engaged, sir. I'm sorry she will not be able to see
you."

He stared uncertainly at her and beyond her.

"So she's packing her things," he murmured, more to himself than to
the servant. Rachel was silent. He saw the door closing in his face. A
curious sense of power, of authority, came over him. "Hold on," he
said sharply, putting his foot against the door. "You go and tell her
I want to see her. It's important--very important!"

"She has given orders, sir, not to let you----"

"Well, I'm giving a few orders myself, and I won't stand for any back
talk, do you hear? Who is the master of this place, tell me that?" He
thumped his breast with his knuckles. "Step lively, now. Tell her I'm
here."

He pushed his way past her and walked into what he called the
"parlour," but what was to Nellie the "living-room." Here he found
numerous boxes, crates, and parcels, all prepared for shipment or
storage. Quite coolly he examined the tag on a large crate. The word
"Reno" smote him. As he cringed he smiled a sickly smile without being
conscious of the act. "Wait a minute," he