me he could not be mistaken. Noiselessly he
made his way toward the sound. It stopped. But presently it came again.
From where? Ah, yes, the window with a broken pane.

Soft, heartbroken, smothered wailing. Spasms of it. Then an interlude of
silence. Adrian's heart beat rapidly. He tip-toed to the window, tried
the door beside it. Locked. After a moment's hesitation he spoke,
softly: "Is someone in trouble?"

CHAPTER XX

A CALL IN THE NIGHT

There was no answer. For a second time Adrian's mind fought a belief
that sense had tricked him. Now and then a shout from the bar-room
reached him as he waited, listening. The wind whistled eerily through
the scant-leaved scrub-oaks on the slopes above.

But from the room at the window of which he listened there came no
sound.

Adrian felt like one hoaxed, made ridiculous by his own sentimentality.
He strode on. But when he reached the farther corner some involuntary
impulse turned him back. And again the sound of muffled sobbing came to
him from the open window--fainter now, as though an effort had been made
to stifle it.

Once more he spoke: "I say, what's the trouble in there? Can I help?"

Almost instantly a face appeared against the pane--a tear-stained face,
terrified and shrinking.

"Oh!" said a voice unsteady with weeping. "Oh! sir, if there is a heart
in your breast you will help me to escape--to find my father."

Her tone, despite agitation, was that of extreme youth. She was not of
the class that frequent gambling halls. Both her dress and her manner
proclaimed that. Adrian was perplexed. "Are you--" he hesitated, fearing
to impart offense, "are you the girl who came with McTurpin?"

"Yes, yes," she spoke hurriedly. "He told me my father was ill. He
promised to take me to him. Instead, he locked me in this room. He
threatened--oh! he is a monster! Will you help me? Do you know my
father, sir?"

"What is his name?" asked Stanley.

"Burthen, sir, James Burthen," she replied, and fell once more to
sobbing helplessly. "Oh, if I were only out of here."

Stanley pressed his weight against the door. He was thinking rapidly. So
this was the daughter of Benito's partner--the murdered miner of the
Eldorado tragedy. He recalled the letter from Colton; the hint of
McTurpin's infatuation and its menace. Things became clear to him
suddenly. The door gave as he pressed his knee against it. Presently the
flimsy lock capitulated and he walked into the room. The girl