tened, it seemed, for Lawson stole away from it
after a time and continued along the wall of the house until he reached
the southeast corner. Around that, after a fleeting glance about him,
Lawson vanished.

Still grinning--though there was now a quality in the grin that might
have warned Lawson, had he seen it--Harlan stepped down from the doorway,
slipped into the shadow of the corral fence, and made his way toward the
corner where Lawson had disappeared.

CHAPTER XI

THE INTRUDER

After closing the door through which she had entered, Barbara Morgan
slipped the fastenings into place and stood, an ear pressed against the
door, listening for sounds that would tell her Harlan had followed her.
But beyond the door all was silence.

Breathing fast, yielding to the panic of fear that had seized her, over
the odd light she had seen in Harlan's eyes--a gleam, that to her, seemed
to have been a reflection of some evil passion in the man's heart--she
ran through the dark room she had entered, opened a door that led to the
_patio_, and peered fearfully outward, as though she half expected to see
Harlan there.

But the court was deserted, apparently, though there were somber shadows
ranging the enclosing walls that would afford concealment for Harlan, had
he succeeded in gaining entrance. As she stepped out of the doorway she
peered intently around.

Then, further frightened by the brooding silence that seemed to envelop
the place, and tortured by tragic thoughts in which her father occupied a
prominent position--almost crazed by the memory of what had happened
during the preceding twenty-four hours--she fled across the _patio_
swiftly, her terror growing with each step.

She knew the house thoroughly; she could have found her way in complete
darkness; and when she reached the opposite side of the court she almost
threw herself at a door which, she knew, opened into the big room in
which she and her father had usually passed their leisure.

Entering, she closed the door, and barred it. Then, feeling more secure,
she stood for an instant in the center of the room, gazing about,
afflicted with an appalling sense of loss, of loneliness, and of
helplessness.

For this was the first time she had entered the house since the news of
her father's death had reached her; and she missed him, feeling more
keenly than ever the grief she had endured thus far with a certain stoic
calm; yielding to the tears that had been ve