e crept slowly forward,
halting at every other step to listen; but the night gave up no sound.

The tenth pace brought him to a corner. He turned off at right angles,
still pursuing the wall, and came upon shutters, closely barred. He
pressed on, came to another corner; proceeded, another; and finally
touched the door-knob again.

This was a square room, apparently, and unfurnished. But what might not
yawn for him in the middle of the floor? He remembered that the river
ran at the end of the garden.

Pressing his ear to the door, he listened intently.

Without, absolutely nothing stirred. He drew a quick, sibilant breath,
and turned, planting his back against the door and clenching his fists.

Suddenly it had been borne in upon his mind that something, someone, was
in the room with him!

Vainly he sought to peer through the darkness. His throat was parched.

A dim glow was born in the heart of the gloom. Scarce able to draw
breath, fearing what he might see, yet more greatly fearing to look
away, even for an instant, Mr. Oppner stared and stared. His eyes ached.

Brighter became the glow, and proclaimed itself a ball of light. It
illuminated the face that was but a few inches removed from it. In the
midst of that absolute darkness the effect was indescribably weird.
Nothing for some moments was visible but just that ball of light and the
dark face with the piercing eyes gleaming out from slits in a silk mask.

Then the ball became fully illuminated, and Oppner saw that it was some
unfamiliar kind of lamp, and that it rested in a sort of metal tripod
upon a plain deal table, otherwise absolutely bare.

Save for this table, the lamp, and a chair, the room was entirely
innocent of furniture. Upon the chair, with his elbows resting on the
table, sat a man in evening dress. He was very dark, very well groomed,
and seemingly very handsome; but the black silk half-mask effectually
disguised him. His eyes were arresting. Mr. Oppner did not move, and he
could not look away.

For he knew that he stood in the presence of Severac Bablon.

The latter pushed something across the table in Oppner's direction.

"Your cheque-book," he said, "and a fountain pen."

Mr. Oppner gulped; did not stir, did not speak. Severac Bablon's voice
was vaguely familiar to him.

"You are the second richest man in the United States," he continued,
"and the first in parsimony. I shall mulct you in one hundred thousand
pounds!"

"You'll n