e door I knew to be
securely locked, yet, first of all, it was essential that I attain to
the interior. But one means to this end occurred to me--the unshaded
window through which the glow of light continued to stream. I found I
could reach the edge of the balcony with extended fingers, and drew
myself slowly up, until I clung to the railing, with feet finding
precarious support on the outer rim. This was accomplished
noiselessly, and, from the vantage point thus obtained, I was enabled
to survey a large portion of the room. The illumination came from a
chandelier pendent from the center of the high ceiling, but only one
lamp had been lighted, and the apartment was so large that both ends
and sides remained in partial shadow. It might have been originally
intended as either a sitting room or library, for there were bookcases
against the walls, and a large writing table, holding books and writing
material, stood directly beneath the chandelier, while on the sofa in
one corner reposed a bit of women's sewing, where it had apparently
been hastily dropped. A fireplace, black and gloomy, evidently unused
for some time, yawned in a side wall, and above it hung a rifle and
powder horn.

I clambered over the rail, assured by this first glance that the room
was empty, and succeeded in lifting the heavy sash a few inches without
any disturbing noise. Then it stuck, and, even as I ventured to exert
my strength to greater extent to force it upward, the single door
directly opposite, evidently leading into the hall, was flung violently
open, and I sank back out of view, yet instantly aware that the first
party to enter was Joe Kirby.

Without venturing to lift my eyes to the level of the opening, I could
nevertheless imagine his movements, while the sound of his voice when
he spoke was as distinct as though I stood beside him. He strode
forward to the table, striking the wooden top angrily with his fist and
knocking something crashing to the floor.

"You know where she is, don't you?" he asked, in the same threatening
tone he had used without.

"Of course I do; didn't I help put her there?" It was Carver who
replied, standing in the open doorway.

"Then bring the hussy in here. By God! I'll make the wench talk, if I
have to choke it out of her; she'll learn what it means to be a nigger."

The door closed, and Kirby strode across to the fireplace, muttering to
himself, and stood there, an arm on the mantel, nervousl