lieve he was hurt?" asked the girl.

"No," said Ford. "I believe Prothero found him, and I believe there may
have been a fight. But you heard what Pearsall said: 'The man outside
will tell.' If Cuthbert's in a position to tell, he is not down an area
with a knife in him."

He was interrupted by a faint report from the lowest floor, as though
the door to the street had been sharply slammed. Miss Dale showed that
she also had heard it.

"My uncle," she said, "making his escape!"

"It may be," Ford answered.

The report did not suggest to him the slamming of a door, but he saw no
reason for saying so to the girl.

With his fingers locked across his knees, Ford was leaning forward, his
eyes frowning, his lips tightly shut. At his side the girl regarded
him covertly. His broad shoulders, almost touching hers, his strong
jaw projecting aggressively, and the alert, observant eyes gave her
confidence. For three weeks she had been making a fight single-handed.
But she was now willing to cease struggling and relax. Quite happily
she placed herself and her safety in the keeping of a stranger. Half
to herself, half to the man, she murmured: "It is like 'The Sieur de
Maletroit's Door."'

Without looking at her, Ford shook his head and smiled.

"No such luck," he corrected grimly. "That young man was given a choice.
The moment he was willing to marry the girl he could have walked out of
the room free. I do not recall Prothero's saying I can escape death by
any such charming alternative." The girl interrupted quickly.

"No," she said; "you are not at all like that young man. He stumbled in
by chance. You came on purpose to help me. It was fine, unselfish."

"It was not," returned Ford. "My motive was absolutely selfish. It was
not to help you I came, but to be able to tell about it later. It is my
business to do that. And before I saw you, it was all in the day's work.
But after I saw you it was no longer a part of the day's work; it became
a matter of a life time."

The girl at his side laughed softly and lightly. "A lifetime is not
long," she said, "when you are locked in a room and a madman is shooting
at you. It may last only an hour."

"Whether it lasts an hour or many years," said Ford, "it can mean to me
now only one thing----" He turned quickly and looked in her face boldly
and steadily: "You," he said.

The girl did not avoid his eyes, but returned his glance with one as
steady as his own. "You are an amusing