After an interminable time, there began a chinking sound. This
deepened into a rhythm: chink, chink, chink--twenty-five chinks--
a rap on the writing-table, and a grunt from the owner of the stout
legs. It dawned upon Mr. Ledbetter that this chinking was the chinking
of gold. He became incredulously curious as it went on. His curiosity
grew. Already, if that was the case, this extraordinary man must
have counted some hundreds of pounds. At last Mr. Ledbetter could
resist it no longer, and he began very cautiously to fold his arms
and lower his head to the level of the floor, in the hope of peeping
under the valance. He moved his feet, and one made a slight scraping
on the floor. Suddenly the chinking ceased. Mr. Ledbetter became
rigid. After a while the chinking was resumed. Then it ceased again,
and everything was still, except Mr. Ledbetter's heart--that organ
seemed to him to be beating like a drum.

The stillness continued. Mr. Ledbetter's head was now on the floor,
and he could see the stout legs as far as the shins. They were
quite still. The feet were resting on the toes and drawn back,
as it seemed, under the chair of the owner. Everything was quite
still, everything continued still. A wild hope came to Mr. Ledbetter
that the unknown was in a fit or suddenly dead, with his head upon
the writing-table. . . .

The stillness continued. What had happened? The desire to peep
became irresistible. Very cautiously Mr. Ledbetter shifted his hand
forward, projected a pioneer finger, and began to lift the valance
immediately next his eye. Nothing broke the stillness. He saw now
the stranger's knees, saw the back of the writing-table, and then--
he was staring at the barrel of a heavy revolver pointed over