ence.
And he was filled with a vast anger at Jim Doyle. He saw in all this,
somehow, Doyle's work; how it would play into Doyle's plans to have
Anthony Cardew's granddaughter a member of his household. He would take
her away from there if he had to carry her.

He was a long time in getting to the mill district, and a longer time
still in finding Cardew Way. At an all-night pharmacy he learned
which was the house, and his determined movements took on a sort of
uncertainty. It was very late. Ellen had waited for him for some time.
If Lily were in that sinister darkened house across the street, the
family had probably retired. And for the first time, too, he began to
doubt if Doyle would let him see her. Lily herself might even refuse to
see him.

Nevertheless, the urgency to get her away from there, if she were there,
prevailed at last, and a strip of light in an upper window, as from an
imperfectly fitting blind, assured him that some one was still awake in
the house.

He went across the street and opening the gate, strode up the walk.
Almost immediately he was confronted by the figure of a man who had been
concealed by the trunk of one of the trees. He lounged forward, huge,
menacing, yet not entirely hostile.

"Who is it?" demanded the figure blocking his way.

"I want to see Mr. Doyle."

"What about?"

"I'll tell him that," said Willy Cameron.

"What's your name?"

"That's my business, too," said Mr. Cameron, with disarming
pleasantness.

"Damn private about your business, aren't you?" jeered the sentry, still
in cautious tones. "Well, you can write it down on a piece of paper and
mail it to him. He's busy now."

"All I want to do," persisted Mr. William Wallace Cameron, growing
slightly giddy with repressed fury, "is to ring that doorbell and ask
him a question. I'm going to do it, too."

There was rather an interesting moment then, because the figure lunged
at Mr. Cameron, and Mr. Cameron, stooping low and swiftly, as well as to
one side, and at the same instant becoming a fighting Scot, which means
a cool-eyed madman, got in one or two rather neat effects with his
fists. The first took the shadow just below his breast-bone, and the
left caught him at that angle of the jaw where a small cause sometimes
produces a large effect. The figure sat down on the brick walk and
grunted, and Mr. Cameron, judging that he had about ten seconds' leeway,
felt in the dazed person's right hand pocket for the revolve