combe. Are you here?" The room was dark except for the light from
the hall, which shone dimly past him and fell upon a gun-rack hanging
on the wall opposite. Holcombe hurried toward this and ran his hands
over it, and passed on quickly from that to the mantel and the tables,
stumbling over chairs and riding-boots as he groped about, and
tripping on the skin of some animal that lay stretched upon the floor.
He felt his way, around the entire circuit of the room, and halted
near the door with an exclamation of disappointment. By this time his
eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, and he noted the white
surface of the bed in a far corner and ran quickly toward it, groping
with his hands about the posts at its head. He closed his fingers with
a quick gasp of satisfaction on a leather belt that hung from it,
heavy with cartridges and a revolver that swung from its holder.
Holcombe pulled this out and jerked back the lever, spinning the
cylinder around under the edge of his thumb. He felt the grease of
each cartridge as it passed under his nail. The revolver was loaded in
each chamber, and Holcombe slipped it into the pocket of his coat and
crept out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. He met no
one in the hall or on the stairs, and passed on quickly to a room on
the second floor. There was a light in this room which showed through
the transom and under the crack at the floor, and there was a sound of
some one moving about within. Holcombe knocked gently and waited.

The movement on the other side of the door ceased, and after a pause a
voice asked who was there. Holcombe hesitated a second before
answering, and then said, "It is a servant, sir, with a note for Mr.
Allen."

At the sound of some one moving toward the door from within, Holcombe
threw his shoulder against the panel and pressed forward. There was
the click of the key turning in the lock and of the withdrawal of a
bolt, and the door was partly opened. Holcombe pushed it back with his
shoulder, and, stepping quickly inside, closed it again behind him.

The man within, into whose presence he had forced himself, confronted
him with a look of some alarm, which increased in surprise as he
recognized his visitor. "Why, Holcombe!" he exclaimed. He looked past
him as though expecting some one else to follow. "I thought it was a
servant," he said.

Holcombe made no answer, but surveyed the other closely, and with a
smile of content. The man before hi