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“I’ll take you to him,” he said, “if he thinks it’s all right, it’s all right.”

The girl gave a protesting cry. The young man burst forth indignantly:

“You will NOT!” he cried. “Don’t be an idiot! You talk like a Tenderloin cop. Do we look like second-story workers?”

“I found you prowling around Mr. Carey’s grounds at two in the morning,” said the watchman sharply, “with a gun in your hand. My job is to protect this place, and I am going to take you both to Mr. Carey.”

Until this moment the young man could see nothing save the shaft of light and the tiny glowing bulb at its base; now into the light there protruded a black revolver.

“Keep your hands up, and walk ahead of me to the house,” commanded the watchman. “The woman will go in front.”

The young man did not move. Under his breath he muttered impotently, and bit at his lower lip.

“See here,” he said, “I’ll go with you, but you shan’t take this lady in front of that madman. Let her go to her car. It’s only a hundred yards from here; you know perfectly well she—-“

“I know where your car is, all right,” said the watchman steadily, “and I’m not going to let you get away in it till Mr. Carey’s seen you.” The revolver motioned forward. Miss Forbes stepped in front of it and appealed eagerly to the young man.

“Do what he says,” she urged. “It’s only his duty. Please! Indeed, I don’t mind.” She turned to the watchman. “Which way do you want us to go?” she asked.

“Keep in the light,” he ordered.

The light showed the broad steps leading to the front entrance of the house, and in its shaft they climbed them, pushed open the unlocked door, and stood in a small hallway. It led into a greater hall beyond. By the electric lights still burning they noted that the interior of the house was as rich and well cared for as the outside was miserable. With a gesture for silence the watchman motioned them into a small room on the right of the hallway. It had the look of an office, and was apparently the place in which were conducted the affairs of the estate.

In an open grate was a dying fire; in front of it a flat desk covered with papers and japanned tin boxes.

“You stay here till I fetch Mr. Carey, and the servants,” commanded the watchman. “Don’t try to get out, and,” he added menacingly, “don’t make no noise.” With his revolver he pointed at the two windows. They were heavily barred. “Those bars keep Mr. Carey in,” he said, “and I guess they can keep you in, too. The other watchman,” he added, “will be just outside this door.” But still he hesitated, glowering with suspicion; unwilling to trust them alone. His face lit with an ugly smile.

“Mr. Carey’s very bad to-night,” he said; “he won’t keep his bed and he’s wandering about the house. If he found you by yourselves, he might—-“

The young man, who had been staring at the fire, swung sharply on his heel.

“Get-to-hell-out-of-here!” he said. The watchman stepped into the hall and was cautiously closing the door when a man sprang lightly up the front steps. Through the inch crack left by the open door the trespassers heard the newcomers eager greeting.

“I can’t get him right!” he panted. “He’s snoring like a hog.”

The watchman exclaimed savagely:

“He’s fooling you.” He gasped. “I didn’t mor’ nor slap him. Did you throw water on him?”

“I drowned him!” returned the other. “He never winked. I tell You we gotta walk, and damn quick!”

“Walk!” The watchman cursed him foully. “How far could we walk? I’LL bring him to,” he swore. “He’s scared of us, and he’s shamming.” He gave a sudden start of alarm. “That’s it, he’s shamming. You fool! You shouldn’t have left him.”