merchant's bedroom; adjoining it were two smaller rooms, one of which
had been used as a place of storage for trunks and boxes and broken bits
of furniture; the other room was empty.

"We may as well go back down-stairs," said the gambler, halting, lamp
in hand, in the center of the empty room.

Harbison nodded, and leading the way to the floor below, they rejoined
the colonel in the sitting-room, where they made themselves as
comfortable as possible.

The colonel and his nephew talked in subdued tones, principally of the
murdered man; they had no desire to exclude their companion from the
conversation, but Gilmore displayed no interest in what was said. He sat
at the colonel's elbow, preoccupied and thoughtful, smoking cigar after
cigar. Presently the colonel and his nephew lapsed into silence. Their
silence seemed to rouse Gilmore to what was passing about him. He
glanced at the elder Harbison.

"You look tired, Colonel," he said. "Why don't you stretch out on that
lounge yonder and take a nap?"

"I think I shall, Andy, if you and Watt don't mind." And the colonel
quitted his chair.

"Better put your coat over you," advised the gambler.

He watched the colonel as he made himself comfortable on the lounge,
then he lighted a fresh cigar, tilted his chair against the wall and
with head thrown back studied the ceiling. Watt Harbison made one or two