ch
the two men and the woman were hidden; by means of this the former
could make the latter out in a dim, uncertain sort of way. She seemed
unusually tall as she moved noiselessly across the floor and peered
cautiously through the communicating doorways.

[Illustration: WHAT SHE SAW MUST HAVE STARTLED HER]

What she saw must have startled her, for she drew quickly back, her
hand pressed to her heart. Then softly she retraced her steps; they
heard the door-catch slip quietly back and were conscious that the
door was swung open; the woman then crept inch by inch, so it seemed,
down the hall.

It was the bedroom door that had been forced; the two watchers noted
the bar of light that slanted from it across the passage. Nearer and
nearer the woman approached to it. Pendleton had at first thought that
she was making for the stairs; but this died away as she passed them,
unheeding. The automatic revolver was in his hand instantly; leaning
toward his friend, he breathed in his ear.

"She's going in there."

The blanket slipped from him as he arose to his feet; his legs were
still cramped and stiffened; he felt clumsy and unsure. Ashton-Kirk
evidently agreed that the time had come for action, for he whispered
in reply:

"Through the rooms! I will take the hall!"

Pendleton stepped from behind the screen like a shadow. Through the
door leading to the storeroom he had an uninterrupted view of a part
of the bedroom; and across the floor he saw thrown the shadow of a
man. Noiselessly he tip-toed into the kitchen, the revolver held
ready; just outside the bedroom he paused, and drawing to one side,
waited. Then he noted the shadow move slightly, and heard a deep
rumbling voice say in French:

"You were a devil! Even now as I look at you, you laugh and jibe!" The
shadow upon the floor here swung its arms threateningly. "But laugh
away. I have won, and it is my turn to laugh!"

Here the shadow slid along and up the wall; peering around the edge of
the door, Pendleton saw a man with massive, stooped shoulders and a
great square head, covered with thick, iron-gray hair; and instantly
he recognized him as the man whom they had seen that night in the
doorway of Locke's workshop. The stranger was standing just under the
portrait of Hume; he gazed up at it, and his big shoulders shook with
laughter.

"What a mistake to make," he said, still in French. "How was I to know
that the old devil once called himself Wayne!"

He reach