rted to bed, by his faithful father-in-law, in a state of
mellowness, that precluded all thought for the night, or the dangers it
might bring forth. Evan entered, cautiously closing the door as he had
found it, and approached the bed. Its occupant was sleeping heavily, and
breathing melodiously. Satisfied on this point, Evan opened a commodious
wardrobe near the bed, threw down some clothing, spread it out smoothly,
and then stepping within, he drew the doors together, fastening them by
a hook of his own contrivance, on the inside; for Evan had made this
wardrobe do service before. Then he laid himself down as comfortably as
possible, and applied his eye to some small holes punctured in the dark
wood, and quite invisible to casual outside observation.

He had began to grow restless in his hiding-place, and fiercely
disgusted with the sleeper's monotonously musical whistle, when his
waiting was rewarded. The door once again opened cautiously, and this
time, Jasper Lamotte entered. He looked carefully about him, then
closing and locking the door, he approached the sleeper.

"I knew it," thought Evan; "the fox will catch the wolf napping, and
nail him before he can fortify himself with a morning dram."

It took some time to arouse the sleeper, but Jasper Lamotte was equal to
the occasion; this not being his first morning interview with his
son-in-law; and, after a little, John Burrill was sufficiently awake to
scramble through with a hasty toilet, talking as he dressed.

"Business is getting urgent," he grumbled, thrusting a huge foot into a
gorgeously decorated slipper. "I'd rather talk after breakfast."

"Pshaw, you are always drunk enough to be unreasonable before noon. Turn
some cold water upon your head and be ready to attend to what I have to
say."

What he had to say took a long time in the telling, for it was a long,
long hour before the conference broke up, and the two men left the room
together.

Then the doors of the wardrobe opened slowly, and a pale, pinched face
looked forth; following the face came the body of Evan Lamotte, shaken
as if with an ague. Mechanically he closed the wardrobe, and staggered
rather than walked from the room. Once more within his own room he
locked the door with an unsteady hand, and then threw himself headlong
upon the bed, uttering groan after groan, as if in pain.

After a time he arose from the bed, still looking as if he had seen a
ghost, and, going to a desk, opened it,