me the sound of a voice.
She clenched her hand in anguished desperation. "Go, you--you coward!"
she whispered frantically.

"Miss Gray, for God's sake, do as I tell you!" he said between his
teeth. "You don't realize the danger. It's not the pursuit. They are not
coming down here unarmed after that racket. I know that you came in by
that door there. Go out that way. I will play the game for you. I swear
it!"

There were footsteps, plainly audible now, out in the main hall.

"Quick!" he urged. "Are we both to be caught? See!" He backed suddenly
toward the window.

"See! I am too far away now to touch that necklace before they get here.
Throw it down, and get behind the portiere of the rear door!"

Mechanically she was retreating. They were almost at the other door now,
those footsteps outside in the main hall. With a backward spring she
reached the portiere. The door handle across the room rattled. She
glanced at the Adventurer. He was close to the window. It was true,
he could not get the necklace and at the same time hope to escape. She
whipped it from her pocket, tossed it from her to the floor near the
plush-lined case--and slipped behind the portiere.

The door opposite to her was wrenched violently open. She could
see through the corner of the portiere. There was a sharp, excited
exclamation, as a gray-haired man, in pajamas, evidently Mr. Hayden-Bond
himself, sprang into the room. He was followed by another man in equal
dishabille.

And the Adventurer was leaping for the window.

There was a blinding flash, the roar of a report, as the millionaire
flung up a revolver and fired; it was echoed by the splatter and tinkle
of falling glass. The Adventurer was astride the window sill now, his
face deliberately and unmistakably in view.

"A foot too high, and a bit to the right!" said the Adventurer
debonairly--and the window sill was empty.

Rhoda Gray stole silently through the doorway behind her. She could hear
the millionaire and his companion, the butler, probably, rush across the
library to the window. As she gained the pantry, she heard another shot.
Tight-lipped, using her flashlight, she ran through the kitchen. In a
moment more, she was standing at the garage door, listening, peering
furtively outside. The street itself was empty; there were shouts,
though, from the direction of the Avenue. She stepped out on the side
street, and walking composedly that she might not attract attention,
though very