"You don't intend fighting the fact of your absence,

do you?" demanded Larry, after a long silence.

"Of course not!" I replied quietly. "Pickering was

right on my heels, and my absence was known to his

men here. And it would not be square to my grandfather,

-who never harmed a flea, may his soul rest in

blessed peace!-to lie about it. They might nail me for

perjury besides."

"Then the quicker we get ready for a siege the better.

As I understand your attitude, you don't propose to

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move out until you've found where the siller's hidden.

Being a gallant gentleman and of a forgiving nature,

you want to be sure that the lady who is now entitled to

it gets all there is coming to her, and as you don't trust

the executor, any further than a true Irishman trusts a

British prime minister's promise, you're going to stand

by to watch the boodle counted. Is that a correct analysis

of your intentions?"

"That's as near one of my ideas as you're likely to

get, Larry Donovan!"

"And if he comes with the authorities,-the sheriff

and that sort of thing,-we must prepare for such an

emergency," interposed the chaplain.

"So much the worse for the sheriff and the rest of

them!" I declared.

"Spoken like a man of spirit. And now we'd better

stock up at once, in case we should be shut off from our

source of supplies. This is a lonely place here; even

the school is a remote neighbor. Better let Bates raid

the village shops to-morrow. I've tried being hungry,

and I don't care to repeat the experience."

And Larry reached for the tobacco jar.

"I can't imagine, I really can't believe," began the

chaplain, "that Miss Devereux will want to be brought

into this estate matter in any way. In fact, I have heard

Sister Theresa say as much. I suppose there's no way

of preventing a man from leaving his property to a

young woman, who has no claim on him,-who doesn't

want anything from him."

"Bah, these women! People don't throw legacies to

the birds these days. Of course she'll take it."

Then his eyes widened and met mine in a gaze that

reflected the mystification and wonder that struck both

of us. Stoddard turned from the fire suddenly: "What's that? There's some one up stairs!"

Larry was already running toward the hall, and I

heard him springing up the steps like a cat, while Stoddard

and I followed.

"Where's Bates?" demanded the chaplain.

"I'll thank you for the answer," I replied.

Larry stood at the top of the staircase, holding a

candle at arm's length in front of him, staring about.

We could hear quite distinctly some one walking

on a stairway; the sounds were unmistakable, just as

I had heard them on several previous occasions, without

ever being able to trace their source.




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