street at a right angle, and, when Harry turned
the corner, a heavy, dark figure thrust itself into his path.

"Shepard!" he cried.

"Yes!" said the man, "and I hate to do this, but I must."

His heavy fist shot out and caught his pursuer on the jaw. Harry saw
stars in constellations, then floated away into blackness, and, when he
came out of it, found himself lying on a bed in a small room. His jaw
was bandaged and very sore, but otherwise he felt all right. A candle
was burning on a table near him and an unshuttered window on the other
side of the room told him that it was still night and raining.

Harry looked leisurely about the room, into which he had been wafted on
the magic carpet of the Arabian genii, so far as he knew. It was small
and without splendor and he knew at once from the character of its
belongings that it was a woman's room.

He sat up. His head throbbed, but touching it cautiously he knew that he
had sustained no serious injury. But he felt chagrin, and a lot of it.
Shepard had known that he was following him and had laid a trap, into
which he had walked without hesitation. The man, however, had spared his
life, although he could have killed him as easily as he had stunned him.
Then he laughed bitterly at himself. A duel between them, he had called
it! Shepard wouldn't regard it as much of a duel.

His head became so dizzy that he lay down again rather abruptly and began
to wonder. What was he doing in a woman's room, and who was the woman
and how had he got there? This would be a great joke for Dalton and
St. Clair and Happy Tom.

He was fully dressed, except for his boots, and he saw them standing
on the floor against the wall. He surveyed once more the immaculate
neatness of the room. It was certainly a woman's, and most likely that
of an old maid. He sat up again, but his head throbbed so fearfully that
he was compelled to lie down quickly. Shepard had certainly put a lot
in that right hand punch of his and he had obtained a considerable
percentage of revenge for his defeat in the river.

Then Harry forgot his pain in the intensity of his curiosity. He had
sustained a certain temporary numbing of the faculties from the blow and
his fancy, though vivid now, was vague. He was not at all sure that
he was still in Richmond. The window still showed that it was night,
and the rain was pouring so hard that he could hear it beating against
the walls. At all events, he thought