pt
on down, pausing at every step to listen. He found the door standing
open, and glanced it. What he saw pleased him beyond measure. His uncle
was asleep on the sofa; on a small table at the head of the sofa a lamp
was burning low, and by it stood the old man's small cashbox, closed.
Near the box was a pile of bank notes and a piece of paper covered with
figured in pencil. The safe door was not open. Evidently the sleeper had
wearied himself with work upon his finances, and was taking a rest.

Tom set his candle on the stairs, and began to make his way toward the
pile of notes, stooping low as he went. When he was passing his uncle,
the old man stirred in his sleep, and Tom stopped instantly--stopped, and
softly drew the knife from its sheath, with his heart thumping, and his
eyes fastened upon his benefactor's face. After a moment or two he
ventured forward again--one step--reached for his prize and seized it,
dropping the knife sheath. Then he felt the old man's strong grip upon
him, and a wild cry of "Help! help!" rang in his ear. Without hesitation
he drove the knife home--and was free. Some of the notes escaped from his
left hand and fell in the blood on the floor. He dropped the knife and
snatched them up and started to fly; transferred them to his left hand,
and seized the knife again, in his fright and confusion, but remembered
himself and flung it from him, as being a dangerous witness to carry away
with him.

He jumped for the stair-foot, and closed the door behind him; and as he
snatched his candle and fled upward, the stillness of the night was
broken by the sound of urgent footsteps approaching the house. In another
moment he was in his room, and the twins were standing aghast over the
body of the murdered man!

Tom put on his coat, buttoned his hat under it, threw on his suit of
girl's clothes, dropped the veil, blew out his light, locked the room
door by which he had just entered, taking the key, passed through his
other door into the black hall, locked that door and kept the key, then
worked his way along in the dark and descended the black stairs. He was
not expecting to meet anybody, for all interest was centered in the other
part of the house now; his calculation proved correct. By the time he
was passing through the backyard, Mrs. Pratt, her servants, and a dozen
half-dressed neighbors had joined the twins and the dead, and accessions
were still arriving at the front door.

As Tom, quakin