hen he faced the door once again.

The simple accident of the muzzle of his revolver striking against the
door knob furnished Wilson the inspiration for his next attack. He
examined the cylinder and found that four cartridges remained. These
were all. Each one of them was precious and would be doubly so once he
was beyond this barrier. He thrust the muzzle of the revolver into the
lock and fired. The bullet ripped and tore and splintered. Again he
placed his shoulder to the door and pushed. It gave a trifle, but
still held. He must sacrifice another cartridge. He shot again and
this time, as he threw his body full against the bolt, it gave. He
fell in atop the debris, but instantly sprang to his feet and stumbled
along the hall to the stairway. He mounted this three steps at a time.
At the door to the study he was again checked--there was no light
within and no voice to greet him. He called her name; the ensuing
silence was ghastly in its suggestiveness. He started through the
door, but a slight rustling or creak caused him to dart back, and a
knife in the hand of some unknown assailant missed him by a margin so
slight that his sleeve was ripped from elbow to wrist.

With cocked revolver Wilson waited for the rush which he expected to
follow immediately. Save that the curtains before him swayed slightly,
there was nothing to show that he was not the only human being in the
house. Sorez might still be within unconscious, but what of the girl?
He called her name. There was no reply. He dashed through the
curtains--for the sixteenth of a second felt the sting of a heavy blow
on his scalp, and then fell forward, the world swirling into a black
pit at his feet.

When Wilson came to himself he realized that he was in some sort of
vehicle. The morning light had come at last--a cold, luminous gray
wash scarcely yet of sufficient intensity to do more than outline the
world. He attempted to rise, but fell back weakly. He felt his neck
and the collar of the luxurious bath robe he still wore to be wet. It
was a sticky sort of dampness. He moved his hand up farther and found
his hair to be matted. His fingers came in contact with raw flesh,
causing him to draw them back quickly. The carriage jounced over the
roadbed as though the horses were moving at a gallop. For a few
moments he was unable to associate himself with the past at all; it
was as though he had come upon himself in this situation as upon a
stranger. The driver witho