washstand. The wind had blown it off the table by the window and he
hadn't missed it. It was in lead pencil and looked like a map of the
roads around here. I couldn't read the notations, but it required only
a glance to convince me that this place was the central point. All of
the little mountain roads were there, and the cross-roads. There
wasn't anything queer about it, so I laid it on his table and put a
book on it.

"This afternoon I walked up in the woods back of the Tavern to go over
some lines in a new piece we are to do later on,--God knows when! I
could see the house from where I was sitting. Roon's windows were
plainly visible. I wasn't very far away, you see, the climb being too
steep for me. I saw Roon standing at a window looking toward the
cross-roads with a pair of field-glasses. Every once in awhile he
would turn to Paul, who stood beside him with a notebook, and say
something to him. Paul wrote it down. Then he would look again,
turning the glasses this way and that. I wouldn't have thought much
about it if they hadn't spent so much time there. I believe I watched
them for an hour. Suddenly my eyes almost popped out of my head. Paul
had gone away from the window. He came back and he had a couple of
revolvers in his hands. They stood there for a few minutes carefully
examining the weapons and reloading them with fresh cartridges. The
storm was coming up, but I love it so that I waited almost until dark,
watching the clouds and listening to the roar of the wind in the
trees. I'm a queer girl in that way. I like turmoil. I could sit out
in the most dreadful thunder storm and just revel in the crashes. Just
as I was about to start down to the house--it was a little after six
o'clock, and getting awfully dark and overcast,--Roon took up the
glasses again. He seemed to be excited and called his companion. Paul
grabbed the glasses and looked down the road. They both became very