the gasping breath from his lips. It was the face, filled
with a hatred that was almost madness--the face of Jean Jacques
Croisset!

Scarcely was it gone when Philip sprang to the table, snatched up his
automatic, and ran out into the hall. The end of the hall he believed
opened outdoors, and he ran swiftly in that direction, his moccasined
feet making no sound. He found a door locked with an iron bar. It took
him but a moment to throw this up, open the door, and leap out into the
night. The wind had died away, and it was snowing. In the silence he
stood and listened, his eyes trying to find some moving shadow in the
gloom. His fighting blood was up. His one impulse now was to come face
to face with Jean Croisset and demand an explanation. He knew that if
he had stood another moment with his back to the window Jean would have
killed him. Murder was in the half-breed's eyes. His pistol was ready.
Only Philip's quick turning from the door had saved him. It was evident
that Jean had fled from the window as quickly as Philip had run out
into the hall. Or, if he had not fled, he was hiding in the gloom of
the building. At the thought that Jean might be crouching in the
shadows Philip turned suddenly and moved swiftly and silently along the
log wall of Adare House. He half expected a shot out of the darkness,
and with his thumb he pressed down the safety lever of his automatic.
He had almost reached his own window when a sound just beyond the pale
filter of light that came out of it drew him more cautiously into the
pitch darkness of the deep shadow next the wall. In another moment he
was sure. Some other person was moving through the gloom beyond the
streak of light.

With his pistol in readiness, Philip darted through the illuminated
path. A startled cry broke out of the night, and with that cry his hand
gripped fiercely in the deep fur of a coat. In the same breath an
exclamation of astonishment came from his own lips as he looked into
the white, staring face of Josephine. His pistol arm had dropped to his
side. He believed that she had not seen the weapon, and he thrust it in
his trousers pocket.

"You, Josephine!" he gasped. "What are you doing here?"

"And you?" she counter demanded. "You have no coat, no hat ..." Her
hands gripped his arm. "I saw you run through the light. You had a
pistol."

An impulse which he could not explain prompted him to tell her a
falsehood.

"I came out--to see what the night looked l