number seven the latter saw the look on his face, and knew that, underneath all, this was a very much worried young man.
"For God's sake," cried Bland, "tell me who you are and what you're doing here. In three words—tell me."
"If I did," Mr. Magee replied, "you wouldn't believe me. Let such minor matters as the truth wait over till to-morrow."
"Well, anyhow," Bland said, his foot on the top step, "we are sure of one thing we don't trust each other. I've got one parting word for you. Don't try to come down-stairs to-night. I've got a gun, and I ain't afraid to shoot."
He paused. A look of fright passed over his face. For on the floor above they both heard soft footsteps—then a faint click, as though a door had been gently closed.
"This inn," whispered Bland, "has more keys than a literary club in a prohibition town. And every one's in use, I guess. Remember. Don't try to come down-stairs. I've warned you. Or Arabella's cast-off Romeo may be found with a bullet in him yet"
