seized him; he was conscious of
a feeling that almost resembled joy, an immeasurable relief at the
prospect of action and retaliation. He took up the lamp, held it
elevated while he advanced to the door with a ready pistol. There,
however, he stopped, realizing the mark he would present moving,
conveniently illuminated, up the stair. The floor above was totally
unknown to him; at any turning he might be surprised, overcome,
rendered useless. He had a supreme purpose to perform. He had already,
perhaps fatally, erred, and there must be no further misstep.

John Woolfolk realized that he must go upstairs in the dark, or with,
at most, in extreme necessity, a fleeting and guarded matchlight.
This, too, since he would be entirely without knowledge of his
surroundings, would be inconvenient, perhaps impossible. He must try.
He put the lamp back upon the table, moving it farther out of the eddy
from the door, where it would stay lighted against a possible pressing
need. Then he moved from the wan radiance into the night of the hall.

XII

He formed in his mind the general aspect of the house: its width faced
the orange grove, the stair mounted on the hall's right, in back of
which a door gave to the billiard room; on the left was the chamber of
the lamp, and that, he had seen, opened into a room behind, while the
kitchen wing, carried to a chamber above, had been obviously added. It
was probable that he would find the same general arrangement on the
second floor. The hall would be smaller; a space inclosed for a bath;
and a means of ascent to the roof.

John Woolfolk mounted the stair quickly and as silently as possible,
placing his feet squarely on the body of the steps. At the top the
handrail disappeared; and, with his back to a plaster wall, he moved
until he encountered a closed door. That interior was above the
billiard room; it was on the opposite floor he had heard the footfall,
and he was certain that no one had crossed the hall or closed a door.
He continued, following the dank wall. At places the plaster had
fallen, and his fingers encountered the bare skeleton of the house.
Farther on he narrowly escaped knocking down a heavily framed
picture--another, he thought, of Lichfield Stope's mezzotints--but he
caught it, left it hanging crazily awry.

He passed an open door, recognized the bathroom from the flat odor of
chlorides, reached an angle of the wall and proceeded with renewed
caution. Next he enc