he explained. "I shot at him to scare him away. Probably one of your novelists."
"Or Arabella," remarked Mr. Magee, coming down.
"No," answered Bland. "I distinctly saw a derby hat."
With Mr. Magee descended the yellow candle light, and brushing aside the shadows of the hotel office, it revealed a mattress lying on the floor close to the clerk's desk, behind which stood the safe. On the mattress was the bedding Magee had presented to the haberdasher, hastily thrown back by the lovelorn one on rising.
"You prefer to sleep down here," Mr. Magee commented.
"Near the letters of Arabella—yes," replied Bland. His keen eyes met Magee's. There was a challenge in them.
Mr. Magee turned, and the yellow light of the candle flickered wanly over the great front door. Even as he looked at it, the door was pushed open, and a queer figure of a man stood framed against a background pf glittering snow. Mr. Bland's arm flew up.
