smile with relief, and to return my revolver silently to the belt. Her eyes remained on the page of the book. I think I would have withdrawn without a word, but, at that instant, a draft from the open door flickered her light, and she glanced about seeking the cause. I caught the startled expression in her eyes as she first perceived my shadow; the book fell to the floor, her hand gripping the pistol, even as she arose hastily to her feet. The light was on her face, and I knew her to be Noreen Harwood.
"Who are you? Why are you here?" she asked tersely, a tremor in the voice, but no shrinking in those eyes that looked straight at me.
I moved forward from out of the shadow into the radius of light. It was only a step, but the girl recoiled slightly, the pearl-handled pistol rising instantly to a level with my eyes.
"Stand where you are!" she ordered. "What are you doing, creeping about this house in the dark?"
"Not in the dark exactly," I answered, seeking to relieve the strain, and holding my hat in one hand, as I bowed gravely, "for my lamp is on the stairs."
I marked the quick change of expression in her eyes as they swept over me. There was no evidence of recognition; scarcely more than a faint acknowledgment that my appearance was not entirely unfavor-
