cantling, burned and sputtered.

Under the door across the way a thin streak of yellow light indicated
that the mysterious young Chinese and his bride had not yet retired.

As Peter was examining the floor for blood stains the door budged
inward sufficiently to panel the terrified face of the Eurasian girl he
had seen earlier in the evening. At sight of him she shut the door
hastily.

Perplexed, he went to the stairway and peered into the stark blankness
which swam up to the third step below him. He was at a loss to account
for the air of serenity which still dwelt in the inn. Surely the three
revolver shots had been overheard; yet the place was as silent as the
grave, and quite as ominous. Where were the servants, the caravan
boys, the muleteers, the traders and merchants? He dismissed as absurd
the theory that the walls of his room were stout enough to muffle the
short-barreled blasts.

An isolated sound, a swish of discreet garments, a prudent grating
sound, as of a window lifted or a chair moved, then came to him, and
unquestionably it came from his own room.

Peter left the staircase to its gloomy shadows.

The room was unoccupied. Basing his next action upon sound and tried
experience, Peter put out the lamp and hazarded a glimpse out of the
window.

A sharp, round moon was perched high in a star-studded heaven, fairly
illuminating a muddy street and the low-thatched roofs of nearby
dwellings. A horse whinnied and stamped in the enclosure, and from a
distance rose the moody growl of the rapids.

Irritated and nervous, Peter felt for the couch and sank down in the
blackness, with the revolver dangling idly across one knee.

At that instant he was thrilled to the roots of his hair by a scream,
strangely muffled.

Peter indulged in a shiver as he stole to the door on tiptoe, opened it
quietly, and looked out. There was terror in that scream; it was the
outcry of a human in the clutch of real horror.

The door across the way was slightly ajar, letting out an orange
effulgence which lighted the boards, the opposite wall, and the grimy
ceiling. Indistinctly he discerned a motionless clump, and, catching
the white flicker of steel he sprang across, wrapping his fingers about
a struggling wrist.

Immediately the orange light was broadened, then darkened by a tall
figure, but Peter's back was turned.

An eager sigh, as if heartfelt relief, was given out by the second
shadow.

The knife, under Pe