touching steel became audible; and Maitland nodded. Bannerman was
indeed justified; at that very moment the safe was being attacked.

Maitland returned noiselessly to the door. His mouth had settled
into a hard, unyielding, thin line; and a dangerous light
flickered in his eyes. Temporarily the idler had stepped aside,
giving place to the real man that was Maitland--the man ready to
fight for his own, naked hands against firearms, if it need be.
True, he had but to step into the gun-room to find weapons in
plenty; but these must be then loaded to be of service, and
precious moments wasted in the process--moments in which the
burglar might gain access to and make off with his booty.

Maitland had no notion whatever of permitting anything of the sort
to occur. He counted upon taking his enemy unawares, difficult as
he believed such a feat would be, in the case of a professional
cracksman.

Down the hallway he groped his way to the library door, his
fingers at length encountering its panels; it was closed,
doubtless secured upon the inside; the slightest movement of the
handle was calculated to alarm the housebreaker. Maitland paused,
deliberating another and better plan, having in mind a short
passageway connecting library and smoking-room. In the library
itself a heavy tapestry curtained its opening, while an equally
heavy portiere took the place of a door at the other end. In the
natural order of things a burglar would overlook this.

Inch by inch the young man edged into the smoking-room, the door
to which providentially stood unclosed. Once within, it was but a