e story had, of course, been garbled in repetition.
I had never before imagined what might be the effect of Enriquez's
peculiar eccentricities upon matter-of-fact people,--I had found them
only amusing,--and the broker's suggestion annoyed me. However, Mrs.
Saltillo was here in the hotel, and I should, of course, meet her. Would
she be as frank with me?

I was disappointed at not finding her in the drawing-room or on the
veranda; and the heat being still unusually oppressive, I strolled out
toward the redwoods, hesitating for a moment in the shade before I ran
the fiery gauntlet of the garden. To my surprise, I had scarcely passed
the giant sentinels on its outskirts before I found that, from some
unusual condition of the atmosphere, the cold undercurrent of air
which generally drew through these pillared aisles was withheld that
afternoon; it was absolutely hotter than in the open, and the wood was
charged throughout with the acrid spices of the pine. I turned back to
the hotel, reascended to my bedroom, and threw myself in an armchair by
the open window. My room was near the end of a wing; the corner room at
the end was next to mine, on the same landing. Its closed door, at right
angles to my open one, gave upon the staircase, but was plainly visible
from where I sat. I remembered being glad that it was shut, as it
enabled me without offense to keep my own door open.

The house was very quiet. The leaves of a catalpa, across the roadway,
hung motionless. Somebody yawned on the veranda below. I threw away
my half-finished cigar, and closed my eyes. I think I had not lost
consciousness for more than a few seconds before I was awakened by the
shaking and thrilling of the whole building. As I staggered to my feet,
I saw the four pictures hanging against the wall swing outwardly from
it on their cords, and my door swing back against the wall. At the same
moment, acted upon by the same potential impulse, the door of the end
room in the hall, opposite the stairs, also swung open. In that brief
moment I had a glimpse of the interior of the room, of two figures, a
man and a woman, the latter clinging to her companion in abject terror.
It was only for an instant, for a second thrill passed through the
house, the pictures clattered back against the wall, the door of the end
room closed violently on its strange revelation, and my own door swung
back also. Apprehensive of what might happen, I sprang toward it, but
only to arrest