The steps hesitated at the top of the stairs, and turned back along
the hall. Peter redoubled his noise; he never barked for Mr. Reynolds
or the Ladleys. I stood still, hardly able to breathe. The door was
thin, and the lock loose: one good blow, and--

The door-knob turned, and I screamed. I recall that the light turned
black, and that is all I _do_ remember, until I came to, a half-hour
later, and saw Mr. Holcombe stooping over me. The door, with the lock
broken, was standing open. I tried to move, and then I saw that my
feet were propped up on the edge of Peter's basket.

"Better leave them up." Mr. Holcombe said. "It sends the blood back to
the head. Half the damfool people in the world stick a pillow under a
fainting woman's shoulders. How are you now?"

"All right," I said feebly. "I thought you were Mr. Ladley."

He helped me up, and I sat in a chair and tried to keep my lips from
shaking. And then I saw that Mr. Holcombe had brought a suit case with
him, and had set it inside the door.

"Ladley is safe, until he gets bail, anyhow," he said. "They picked
him up as he was boarding a Pennsylvania train bound east."

"For murder?" I asked.

"As a suspicious character," he replied grimly. "That does as well
as anything for a time." He sat down opposite me, and looked at me
intently.