shadows
danced upon the wall. The curtains over the oblong entrance hung limp
and motionless and mute. For aught they showed there might have been a
dozen eyes behind them leering in; the points of a dozen weapons
pricking through; the muzzles of a dozen revolvers ready to bark
death. Each second he expected them to open--to unmask. The suspense
grew nerve-racking. And behind him the girl kept whispering, "What is
it? Tell me." He felt her hands upon his shoulders.

"Hush! Listen!"

From beyond the curtains came the sound of a muffled groan.

"Someone's hurt," whispered the girl.

"Don't move. It's only a ruse."

They listened once more, and this time the sound came more distinct;
it was the moaning breathing of a man unconscious.

"Stay where you are," commanded Wilson. "I'll see what the matter
is."

He neared the curtains and called out,

"Are you in trouble? Do you need help?"

There was no other reply but that spasmodic intake of breath, the
jerky outlet through loose lips.

He crossed the room and lighted the bit of remaining candle. With this
held above his head, he parted the curtains and peered out. The
stranger was sitting upright against the wall, his head fallen
sideways and the revolver held loosely in his limp fingers. As Wilson
crossed to his side, he heard the girl at his heels.

"He's hurt," she exclaimed.

Stooping quickly, Wilson snatched the weapon from the nerveless
fingers. It was quite unnecessary. The man showed not the slightest
trace of consciousness. His face was ashen gray. Wilson threw back the
man's coat and found the under linen to be stained with blood. He tore
aside the shirt and discovered its source--a narrow slit just over the
heart. There was but one thing to do--get the man into the next room
to the fire and, if possible, staunch the wound. He placed his hands
beneath the stranger's shoulders and half dragged him to the rug
before the flames. The girl, cheeks flushed with excitement, followed
as though fearing to let him out of her sight.

Under the influence of the heat the man seemed to revive a bit--enough
to ask for brandy and direct Wilson to a recess in the wall which
served as a wine closet. After swallowing a stiff drink, he regained
his voice.

"Who the devil----" he began. But he was checked by a twitch in his
side. He was evidently uncertain whether he was in the hands of
enemies or not. Wilson bent over him.

"Are you badly hurt? Do you wish me to s