But the one the watchman held in his hand still moved from the
face of the girl to that of the young man.

"How'd you know this was the Carey house?" he demanded. "Do
you know Mr. Carey?"

"No, but I know this is his house." For a moment from behind
his mask of light the watchman surveyed them in silence. Then
he spoke quickly:

"I'll take you to him," he said, "if he thinks it's all right,
it's all right."

The girl gave a protesting cry. The young man burst forth
indignantly:

"You will NOT!" he cried. "Don't be an idiot! You talk
like a Tenderloin cop. Do we look like second-story workers?"

"I found you prowling around Mr. Carey's grounds at two in the
morning," said the watchman sharply, "with a gun in your hand.
My job is to protect this place, and I am going to take you
both to Mr. Carey."

Until this moment the young man could see nothing save the
shaft of light and the tiny glowing bulb at its base; now into
the light there protruded a black revolver.

"Keep your hands up, and walk ahead of me to the house,"
commanded the watchman. "The woman will go in front."