s of Stanwick were lighted here and there by incandescent
lights which shone yellowly through the heavy darkness. Bat could not be
sure as to what was going on ahead of him, as the two men were careful
to keep out of the rays of the lamps as they passed them. So he
proceeded slowly with only occasional glimpses of the moving figures.
Finally, as he neared the Burton home, he lost them entirely.

"They've taken cover," said he, between his teeth. "And now I'll have to
trust to chance."

Keeping in the darkness as much as possible, he advanced; and in a
little while he saw a muffled figure standing before a gate as though
hesitating. It was Nora, and the house before which she had halted was
No. 620. However, the hesitancy did not last long; for as he watched,
she pushed open the gate and made her way toward the house.

Scanlon waited, his eyes going about in expectation of a movement of
some sort from the shadows around him. But none came, and he gave his
attention once more to Nora. He saw her move along the path as though
to the door, over which burned a light; however, when within a half
dozen yards of it, she veered to one side, and, to Bat's surprise, stole
with quiet tread around the house.

CHAPTER XIX

IN THE DARK

As Bat Scanlon saw Nora disappear around the Burton house he once more
awaited some developments from the shadows; but again there was no sign
of the presence of either the Swiss or the lank burglar. So after a
little he moved on until he reached the gate of the adjoining house and
quietly lifted the latch.

A dog, from somewhere in the darkness, barked; Bat halted and listened,
but there were no further sounds, and so he went on. Placing his hands
upon the low division fence he bounded over upon the Burton lawn. Almost
directly before him was the rose arbor behind which Ashton-Kirk had
discovered the woman's footprints; and the big athlete took his place in
the deep shadow of this and looked about. The window of the Burton
sitting-room was lighted; inside was Mary Burton in her reclining chair,
propped up by pillows, and reading. The shaded lamp cast a soft glow
upon her; the white face wore an expression of suffering, and with this
was a meekness, a submission which made it nun-like.

A woman's form flitted between Scanlon and the window; it stopped, and
then the watcher saw Nora Cavanaugh peering in at the sick girl.

"Her notions of a social call seem to have picked up a twist som