time to sell a thing was when somebody wanted it. I hoped Bennett would ultimately refuse to sell and thereby queer our South American project. Since we had made our mad contract, my law business had livened up amazingly. Besides, there was Edith Noland—
"Oh, I suppose you're right," he agreed wearily. And then as we stepped out on the porch, "Hello, it's growing dark."
It was, indeed, for, although the rain had ceased, clouds curtained the heavens and night had arrived prematurely. We stopped at a grocery store in the next village, Maple Valley, and bought matches and some candles.
"Now, I guess we can see the place—and perhaps, burn the house down in the bargain," announced Tierney.
A few moments later, the car stopped before an impressive entrance to the magnificent grounds of Ravensnest. A heavy steel chain barred the gateway.
"I'm sorry," said my host, "but we'll have to get out. I've a key to the house, but not to this contraption. We'll have to walk up."
We leaped over the chains and entered the park. I am not an expert at judging distances, but it must have been about a third of a mile before a turn in the driveway brought us directly in front of the regal old dwelling. It was highest in the pillared central part where there were three stories, for the wings on either side had but two floors and were rather low and extremely inviting.
As we approached the majestic facade, the moon, pirouetting with the clouds, suddenly lighted the mansion with a pale and fickle radiance. We paused for a moment under the lofty, silent trees, gazing at the house. Then the eerie brightness faded from the windows, and with a levity I did not feel, I turned to my companion.
"It's a wonderful old place, Bennett, wonderful! But it would be much more cheerful with a few dozen thirty-two candle power Mazdas distributed throughout its interior. A phonograph phonographing at full capacity, or ten or twenty young voices singing 'Nelly Kelly' would liven things up a bit."
"It does look lonesome," admitted Tierney, whose face in the moonlight, appeared as cheerful as a calla lily's.
"These old oaks and elms must be priceless," I went on, with simulated zest. "But it strikes me as abominably spooky, stealing in here in the night like two crooks. There aren't any ghosts, are there?"
Tierney smothered a sigh and pointed to a balcony over which wistaria hung and clung in waving, dark festoons. We left the front of the house and wandered around under the shadow of the right wing. All at once Tierney clutched my arm with a grip that hurt.
"Look!" he whispered hoarsely.
MY EYES followed his rapt gaze, and there under the drawn shade—an almost drawn shade, I should say—filtered a ribbon of light. My breath came quick, for the surprise of the thing got me.
Then I crept to the window with Tierney, and, standing on my toes, peered into the room. Instinctively, I drew back, for not eight feet away, was a man sitting by a table.
"S-s-h-s-s-h!" cautioned Bennett, as I bettered my position for another peep within.
My second glance was more prolonged and took in some details of the large, handsome apartment where the man sat. It was evidently a living-room or back parlor, with books in glassed cases, and, on the walls, covered pictures. There were three doors leading to it, so that it occurred to me immediately if Tierney guarded one entrance and I another, the man might escape through the third—or leap through a window. But it was the housebreaker himself who riveted my attention.
He was slouched in a leather chair, apparently reading. A student's lamp stood near him, while a large volume lay open on his knee. But even as we gazed, his eyes closed, his head dropped lower and lower and he appeared to doze. His face was turned slightly away from the window, but even so I could see that he was more blond than swart, of powerful build, a Viking in appearance.
Bennett pulled me away a few paces where we could consult without much danger of being overheard. We backed into some ivy on a porte cochere and got a drenching shower of raindrops down our necks.
"Have you a pistol?" whispered Tierney.
I half drew from my pocket the black handle of my 32-calibre revolver. "I've a hunter's license and never go to the country without a gun. And you?"
He held up his fists. "Only these, but I know how to use them."
I recalled Bennett's skill at wrestling and was not ill-pleased.
"We'd better go in the rear door and take him by surprise," he went on.
"Do you know him?"
"No, but as I told you there have been a number of robberies around here of late, terrorizing Maple Valley."
"Looks like we've found the robbers' lair," I hazarded in an all but inaudible voice.
Bennett drew me still further away.
"Robert," he said, "I got you into this, and it looks ugly. These people (for there are probably more than one) are at least housebreakers. The fellows who broke into Cushing's place last week were professionals—armed to the teeth. That sleeping giant is no Mellin's Food baby. If you say so, we'll drive back to Maple Valley for reinforcements—"
"Never!" I cried. "We've got the advantage of surprise on our side, and as for me, I'm for the attack and the adventure."
"Good," was Bennett's only comment, but he said it in a way to warm the blood.
As we passed the living-room windows, we paused to see whether the old fellow still slept. No, he was wide-awake, and had reason to be! A short man, wearing a mask, had strapped the Viking to his chair, and even as we watched, proceeded to gag him. A second man, also masked, who walked with a slight limp, kept him covered with a revolver.
In a flash I recalled a newspaper account of an escaped criminal, "Limping Larry," known to be on Long Island and described by the police as a hardened villain, who had taken more than one life.
"Smash the window with the barrel of your gun," whispered Bennett hoarsely, "and pick off the big fellow. Then, wing the other."
I smashed the window and fired at once. "Limping Larry"—for it was he—staggered forward on to his knees and crumpled up, firing his revolver as he hit the floor. The other, who was rifling the old man's pockets, jumped and ran. I fired after him twice, and it seemed to me that he wavered slightly as he went, but he didn't stop. We rushed around to the rear of the house to cut him off, but the advantage was on his side. We had just turned the corner of the house when the kitchen door was flung open, and he sprang out and went tearing along toward the dense shrubbery. My revolver spoke again, but in a trice he had disappeared.
I was about to pursue him, but Bennett stopped me. "He's headed for the grove. We'd never find him in a century. Better go back."
Suddenly, Bennett jerked my arm and uttered a stifled exclamation. "Look upstairs! What's that?"
