after that,
another--and finally stopped by bringing up abruptly against the end
wall of the house. It was certainly very strange! There WERE no rooms
on the right-hand side of the corridor. And here, hanging across the end
wall, was another of those ubiquitous velvet portieres. He parted it,
and, a little to his surprise, found a window that was not shuttered,
but that, instead, was heavily barred by an ornamental grille work. He
could see out, however, and found that he was looking directly out
from the rear of the house. A lamp from the side street threw what was
undoubtedly the garage into shadowy outline, and he made out below him
a short stretch of yard between the garage and the house. He remembered
that now--she had described all that to the Magpie. There was no
driveway between the front and the rear. The house being on the corner,
the entrance to the garage was directly from the side street. Yes, she
had described all that exactly as it was, but--he dropped the portiere
and faced around, carrying his hand in a nonplused way to his eyes--but
here, upstairs, within the house, it was not as she had said it was at
all! What did it mean? She could not have blundered so egregiously as
that, unless--he caught his breath suddenly--unless she had done so
intentionally! Was that it? Had she surmised, formed a suspicion of
what was in his mind, of what he meant to do--and taken this means of
defeating it? If so--well, it was too late for that now! There was
one way--only one way! Whatever the cost, whatever it might mean for
him--there was only one way out for her.

His flashlight was in his hand now, and the round, white ray shot down
the corridor--seemed suddenly to falter unsteadily--swept in through an
open door that was almost beside him--and then, as though a nerveless
hand held it, the ray dropped and played shakily on the toe of his boot
before it went out.

A stifled cry rose to his lips. Something cold, like a hand of ice,
seemed to clutch at his heart. Those portieres, the wide, richly
carpeted corridor! It was the corridor of the night before! That room at
his side was the room where he had seen Hilton Travers, the chauffeur,
dead, lashed in a chair! He felt the sweat beads burst out anew upon his
forehead.

IT WAS THE CRIME CLUB!

CHAPTER XV

RETRIBUTION

His brain seemed to whirl, staggered as by some gigantic, ghastly
mockery. The Crime Club! HERE! He had thought to creep upon that
man--and