Marching Sands
Looking out, Gray saw the form of his adversary vaguely as the coolie picked himself up and vanished in the darkness.
The street was silent. The guitar was no longer to be heard.
Gray crossed the room and flung open the door. The hall was empty. He closed the door, readjusted the stick and string of coins and grinned at Delabar who was watching nervously.
"That was one on me, Professor," he admitted cheerfully. "The coolie who bobbed up under the bed must have been the one I kicked there. Fancy knocking a man to where he can grab your own gun."
Delabar, however, saw no humor in the situation.
"They were coolies," he said. "What do you suppose they came after?"
"Money. I don't know," Gray replaced the shutters and blew out the light. "We'll complain to our landlord in the morning. But I don't guess we'll have much satisfaction out of him. The fact that my shot didn't bring the household running here shows pretty well that it was a put-up job."
His prophecy proved true. The proprietor of the hotel protested that he had known nothing of the matter. Asked why he had not investigated the shot, he declared that he was afraid. Gray gave
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