isk it!" said Carneta steadily. "There are French windows
opening on to that verandah. Ten yards farther around the bushes
come right up to the wall of the house. We'll go that way and
around by the other wing on to the verandah."

Any action was preferable to this nerve-sapping delay, and with a
determination to shoot, and shoot to kill, any one who opposed
our entrance, I passed through the bushes and, with Carneta, rounded
the southern border of that silent house and slipped quietly on to
the verandah.

Kneeling, Carneta opened the knapsack. My eyes were growing
accustomed to the darkness, and I was just able to see her deft
hands at work upon the fastenings. She made no noise, and I
watched her with an ever-growing wonder. A female burglar is a
personage difficult to imagine. Certainly, no one ever could have
suspected this girl with the violet eyes of being an expert
crackswoman; but of her efficiency there could be no question. I
think I had never witnessed a more amazing spectacle than that of
this cultured girl manipulating the tools of the house breaker with
her slim white fingers.

Suddenly she turned and clutched my arm.

"The windows are not fastened!" she whispered.

A strange courage came to me--perhaps that of desperation. For,
ignoring the ominous circumstance, I pushed open the nearest
window and stepped into the room beyond! A hissing breath from
Carneta acknowledged my performance, and she entered close behind
me, silent in her rubber-soled shoes.

For one thrilling moment we stood listening. Then came the white
beam from the electric lamp to cut through the surrounding blackness.

The room was totally unfurnished!

CHAPTER XXXI

THE POOL OF DEATH

Not a sound broke the stillness of the Gate House. It was the most
eerily silent place in which I had ever found myself. Out into the
corridor we went, noiselessly. It was stripped, uncarpeted.

Three doors we passed, two upon the left and one upon the right.
We tried them all. All were unfastened, and the rooms into which
they opened bare and deserted. Then we came upon a short, descending
stair, at its foot a massive oaken door.

Carneta glided down, noiseless as a ghost, and to one of the
blackened panels applied an ingenious little instrument which she
carried in her knapsack. It was not unlike a stethoscope; and as I
watched her listening, by means of this arrangement, for any sound
beyond the oaken door, I ref