Abruptly, as if suddenly turned to stone, he stopped. For a long
time he stood immovable in the middle of the room. The rapping was
repeated, louder, heavier than before. He turned slowly, retraced
his steps to the fireplace and took from its rack in the corner a
great iron poker. His face was ashen grey, his eyes were wide and
staring and terrible. Then he strode toward the door, absolutely
unconscious of the glad, prancing dog at his side.

In the poor shelter of the little porch stood Alix, bent and
shivering, and, behind her, Edward Crown, at whose feet rested two
huge "telescope satchels." The light from within fell dimly upon
the white, upturned face of the girl. She held out her hands to
the man who towered above her on the doorstep.

"Daddy! Daddy!" she cried brokenly. "Oh, my daddy! Let me come
in--let me,--I--I am freezing."

But David Windom was peering over her head at the indistinct face
of the man beyond. He wanted to be sure. Lifting his powerful arm,
he struck.

Edward Crown, stiff and numb with cold and weak from an illness of
some duration, did not raise an arm to ward off the blow, nor was
he even prepared to dodge. The iron rod crashed down upon his head.
His legs crumpled up; he dropped in a heap at the top of the steps
and rolled heavily to the bottom, sprawling out on the snow-covered
brick walk.

The long night wore on. Windom had carried his daughter into the
sitting-room, where he placed her on a lounge drawn up before the