ow, to a settee, and thence to the floor. By the dim light from
the windows he saw that he was in a long, rectangular-shaped room,
evidently lined with bookcases, and in the dimness at one end loomed the
outline of a huge fireplace. For the moment Jim felt a thrill of
excitement go through him. There was something in the fact that he was
alone and unarmed in the house of his foes, quite enough to give him
this sensation.

Suppose that you were standing in the darkness in a cage where some
lions were stretched out asleep but liable to awake at any moment, you
might be excused if you had a few shivery thrills, and so it was with
Jim.

It was evident that this room was not in general use and our adventurer
could not have chosen a better place to land as it were.

He stopped only long enough for his eyes to become accustomed to the
lack of light and then he made sure that there was nothing in the room
that would serve him for a weapon.

"Might take a dictionary and throw some of the hard words at 'em," he
remarked with his usual humorous twist of imagination when in a tight
place.

Then he cautiously opened a door which led into a long, wide corridor
that was decidedly dark, except at the further end, where shone a faint
light. Keeping close to the wall, he went softly along until he came to
the main staircase, which surprised Jim with the winding sweep of its
magnificence and the beautiful stained glass window above it. But there
was that in the large hall below that made him draw back.

There was stretched out on an immense rug, the other hound, his nose
between his paws and his watchful, red-rimmed eyes upon the great door
leading from the hall to the out-of-doors. No wonder that the sight of
him made Jim pause and draw back into the darkness of the upper
corridor. One suspicion, and the huge beast would take the staircase in
three leaps, and neither quickness, strength nor prowess could have
saved Jim if once the hound had caught his trail.

"Gosh, I've got to find a weapon somewhere!" Jim mumbled to himself;
"this won't do at all."

By this time his eyes had become thoroughly accustomed to the dim light
and as he turned back he stopped and his heart beat with something
almost akin to fright. Now our friend James Darlington was not
superstitious by nature, but if that dim, silvery white figure was not a
ghost, what in Sam Hill could it be?

It stood perfectly quiet to one side and about half way down the hall