tairs she
remained, alternately ministering to Paul and listening for what might
happen below.

Paul and Dora had left the main room of the shack not a moment too soon.
For barely had the two men who had carried Paul to the attic returned
when a face was momentarily seen outside, while a pair of eyes peered
into the room.

A moment later there was a peremptory knock at the door.

"Come in!" growled Old Tom.

With eyes that scanned every cranny and nook and searched every face,
Locke stepped into the shack.

The men came forward a step, then halted. There was something in Locke's
face that showed that he was in deadly earnest and not to be trifled
with.

Locke looked from one to the other, then turned to Old Tom. "The wounded
man who was brought here," he demanded, "where is he?"

"There 'ain't been no wounded man brought here," retorted Old Tom.

The men crowded a little closer, all denying vehemently that any one had
entered.

At this instant a drop of blood fell on Locke's sleeve from the ceiling
above. Quickly he checked the impulse to look up, although he was
startled by it. He recovered himself on the instant and waited until
under a pretext he could divert their attention to something else. Then
he glanced hastily upward, as they looked in another direction. There,
forming slowly, was another drop of blood, and it was about to fall.

Locke had gained his object. As surely as though he had been brought
face to face with Paul, he knew that he was lying on the floor of the
attic above.

Single-handed, against so many and in this shack, Locke realized that he
could do nothing. He apologized gruffly for his intrusion, conveying the
impression that he felt he had made a mistake, and backed his way to the
door.

In an instant the door to the attic stairs was flung open and Dora
rushed into the room.

"You fools!" she snarled at the surprised men who were just
congratulating themselves on how they had put one over on Locke. "I tell
you he's wise. He saw the blood. Look up above you. Now go get him."

But the fishermen had no desire for this outside work and hung back,
while Dora raved at them.

From the ceiling, drop by drop, blood was falling, forming a little pool
on the floor. Paul could not be moved now. They must make the best of it
and be ready for any raid Locke might prepare.

At Brent Rock Eva was conversing with her lawyer. Matters had reached
such a state in the affairs of International Pa