was something significant in the lunar lighting of the room. Why, I
asked myself, had the attack been made at one o'clock? Did the time
signify anything? If so, what? I looked toward Bristol.

His figure, the chair upon which he sat, were sharply outlined by
the cold light. The wall behind me, and to my left, was illuminated
brilliantly; but no light fell directly upon me.

The idea was taking shape. From the loggia and the avenue Bristol,
I reasoned, must be clearly visible. From the shrubbery on the
south, through the other windows could I be seen? Yes, silhouetted
against the moonlight!

A faint sound, quite indescribable, came to my ears from somewhere
outside-beyond.

"My God!" whispered Bristol. "Did you hear it?"

"Yes! What?"

"It must have been Morris!--"

Bristol was half standing, one hand upon the arm of the chair, the
other concealed, but grasping his revolver as I well knew. I, too,
had my revolver in my hand, and as I twisted in my seat, preparatory
to rising, in sheer nervousness I dropped the weapon upon the
carpet.

With an exclamation of dismay, I stooped quickly to recover it.