ung it open, peering out into the hall. Everything
was still, the rays from my lamp barely extending to the head of the
stairs. I could neither see, nor hear anything, and yet I had a
strange premonition that I was not alone. There was an automatic
revolver in the pocket of my coat, and I stepped back after it, picking
up the lamp on my return, determined on a thorough examination of the
upper story. There was no doubt about the shot--the sound was no
effect of a dream. I wondered if the girl had been awakened by the
report, and paused to listen at her door, but no sound reached me from
within. The thought that she might have discharged the weapon occurred
to my mind, but was as instantly dismissed, as I was convinced she
possessed nothing of the kind.

I moved down the hall cautiously, regretting the need of a lamp, but
the place was strange, and I dare not venture about in the dark. Old
as the house was, there was no creaking of boards underfoot, and,
strain my ears as I would, not the slightest sound reached me.

The first doors I came to were ajar, but the moon was at the back of
the house, and I was obliged to enter each apartment, and flash my
light into the corners to make sure they were vacant. These were
medium-sized bedrooms, comfortably furnished, although containing
nothing new. Only one exhibited any evidence of late occupancy, being
in considerable disorder, the bed unmade, some discarded garments
strewn about the floor. I prowled about within this room for some
time, even invading the closet, but discovered nothing more suspicious
than a loaded revolver in a bureau drawer, together with some torn
letters, and an old newspaper. This was a local sheet, containing a
notice of the death of Judge Henley, which I took time to read. The
letters were in such scraps I could not even decipher the address.

One fact, however, was revealed--some man had been sleeping up here
lately, and it was not Coombs, but a much smaller Individual. This
knowledge made me even more cautious, as I tiptoed down the hall, now
narrowed by the back stairway. The first door opened into a bath-room,
the tub half full of dirty water, a mussed towel on the floor. The
last door, leading to a room apparently extending clear across the rear
of the house, was tightly closed. I set my lamp down well out of
sight, and gripped my revolver, before attempting to manipulate the
knob. It opened noiselessly; moonlight streamed throu