She found herself staring blindly down a shaft of light. For
an instant the torch held her, and then from her swept over
the young man.

"Drop that gun!" cried the voice. It was no longer the same
voice; it was now savage and snarling. For answer the young
man pressed the torch in his left hand, and, held in the two
circles of light, the men surveyed each other. The newcomer
was one of unusual bulk and height. The collar of his
overcoat hid his mouth, and his derby hat was drawn down over
his forehead, but what they saw showed an intelligent, strong
face, although for the moment it wore a menacing scowl. The
young man dropped his revolver into his pocket.

"My automobile ran dry," he said; "we came in here to get some
water. My chauffeur is back there somewhere with a couple of
buckets. This is Mr. Carey's place, isn't it?"

"Take that light out of my eyes!" said the watchman.

"Take your light out of my eyes," returned the young man. "You
can see we're not--we don't mean any harm."

The two lights disappeared simultaneously, and then each, as
though worked by the same hand, sprang forth again.

"What did you think I was going to do?" the young man asked.
He laughed and switched off his torch.