Every one had thought well of him, every one had believed that his
future career would be brilliant. Now it had ended in this obscure
and dreadful fashion, as ends the life of a trapped rat.

Dunn found himself hardly able to realize that it was really so, and
through all the confused medley of his thoughts there danced and
flickered his memory of a young and lovely face, now tear-stained,
now smiling, now pale with terror, now calmly disdainful.

"Can she have known?" he muttered. "She must have known--she can't
have known--it's not possible either way."

He shuddered and as he put his foot on the lowest stair he raised
his hands to cover his face as though to shut out the visions that
passed before him.

Another step forward he took in the darkness, and all at once there
flashed upon him the light of a strong electric torch, suddenly
switched on.

"Put up your hands," said a voice sharply. "Or you're a dead man."

He looked bewilderedly, taken altogether by surprise, and saw he
was faced by a fat little man with a smooth, chubby, smiling face
and eyes that were cold and grey and deadly, and who held in one
hand a revolver levelled at his heart.

"Put up your hands," this newcomer said again, his voice level and
calm, his eyes intent and deadly. "Put up your hands or I fire."