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 through one window,
where the curtain was not closely drawn, but the gloom was too dense to
reveal much of the shrouded interior. I could dimly perceive a table,
and some chairs, one overturned. There was no movement, however; no
sign of present occupancy. Convinced as to this, I slipped back for my