Silver nights upon the
castle terrace.... Golden walks through the autumn forest....

Suddenly a bell rang loudly at Peter's side, it seemed. Then while he
wondered, it rang again. Of course--the telephone. He found the
instrument in the corner and put the receiver to his ear. It was
McGuire's voice.

"That you, Nichols?" it asked in an agitated staccato.

"Yes, sir."

"Well, it's getting dark, what have you done about to-night?"

"Same as last night," said Peter smiling, "only more careful."

"Well, I want things changed," the gruff voice rose. "The whole d--n
house is open. I can't shut it with these people here. Your men will
have to move in closer--but keep under cover. Can you arrange it?"

"Yes, I think so."

"I'll want you here--with me--you understand. You were coming to
supper?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well--er--I've told my daughter and so--would you mind putting on a
dress suit----? Er--if you have one--a Tuxedo will do."

"Yes, sir," said Peter. "That's all right."

"Oh--er--thanks. You'll be up soon?"

"Yes."

"Good-by."

With a grin, Peter hung up the receiver, recalling the soiled,
perspiring, unquiet figure of his employer last night. But it seemed as
though McGuire were almost as much in awe of his daughter as of the
danger that threatened, for, in the McGuire household, Miss Peggy, it
appeared, was paramount.

Peter's bathroom was Cedar Creek. In his robe, he ran down the dusky
path for a quick plunge. Then, refreshed and invigorated, he lighted his
lamp and dressed leisurely. He had come to his cravat, to which he was
wont to pay more than a casual attention, when he was aware of a feeling
of discomfort--of unease. In the mirror something moved, a shadow, at
the corner of the window. He waited a moment, still fingering his
cravat, and then sure that his eyes had made no mistake, turned quickly
and, revolver in hand, rushed outside. Just as he did so a man with a
startled face disappeared around the corner of the cabin. Peter rushed
after him, shouting and turned the edge just in time to see his shape
leap into the bushes.

"Who goes there?" shouted Peter crisply. "Halt, or I'll fire."

But the only reply was a furious crashing in the undergrowth. Peter
fired twice at the sound, then followed in, still calling.

No sound. Under the conditions a chase was hopeless, so Peter paused
listening. And then after a few moments a more distant crackling advised
him that his visitor had gotten w