, the figure was gone. And in that flare it was the bowed
figure of Kedsty he saw hurrying up the gravel path to the door.

Quickly Kent covered the window, but he did not relight the lamp.
Before Kedsty could have reached the foot of the stair, he had unlocked
the door. Cautiously he opened it three or four inches and sat down
with his back against the wall, listening. He heard Kedsty pass through
into the big room where Marette had waited for him a short time before.
After that there was silence except for the tumult of the storm.

For an hour Kent listened. In all that time he did not hear a sound
from the lower hall or from Marette's room. He wondered if she was
sleeping, and if Kedsty had gone to bed, waiting for morning before he
set in action his bloodhounds of the law.

Kent had no intention of disturbing the comfortable looking bed of
blankets. He was not only sleepless, but filled with a premonition of
events about to happen. He felt impinging itself more and more upon him
a sense of watchfulness. That Inspector Kedsty and Marette Radisson
were under the same roof, and that there was some potent and mysterious
reason which kept Kedsty from betraying the girl's presence, was the
thought which troubled him most. He was not developing further the
plans for his own escape.

He was thinking of Marette. What was her power over Kedsty? Why was it
that Kedsty would like to see her dead? Why was she in his house? Again
and again he asked himself the questions and found no answers to them.
And yet, even in this purgatory of mystery that environed him, he felt
himself happier than he had ever been in his life. For Marette was not
four or five hundred miles down the river. She was in the same house
with him. And he had told her that he loved her. He was glad that he
had been given courage to let her know that. He relighted the lamp, and
opened his watch and placed it on the table, where frequently he could
look at the time. He wanted to smoke his pipe, but the odor of tobacco,
he was sure, would reach Kedsty, unless the Inspector had actually
retired into his bedroom for the night.

Half a dozen times he questioned himself as to the identity of the
ghostly apparition he had seen in the lightning flare of the storm.
Perhaps it was some one of Fingers' strange friends from out of the
wilderness, Mooie's partner in watching the bungalow. The picture of
that giant of a man with his great beard and long hair, as his eyes h