portmanteau stood upon a luggage-rack, and took from it a small revolver.
When I stood up with it in my hand, the effect upon my visitor was almost
magical. He caught at my wrist and wrested it from my fingers. He grasped
it almost lovingly.

"I can at least die now like a man," he muttered. "Thank Heaven for
this!"

I sat down again upon the bed. I looked at the pillow and the unturned
coverlet doubtfully. They had obviously not been disturbed. I glanced at
my watch! it was barely two o'clock. I had not even been to bed. I could
not possibly be dreaming! The door was straining now almost to bursting.
I began to be annoyed.

"What the devil are you doing there?" I called out.

Again there was no answer, but a long crack had appeared on the panel. My
companion was standing up watching it. He grasped the revolver as one
accustomed to the use of such things. Once more I took note of him.

I saw now that he was younger than I had imagined, and a trifle taller.
The ghastly pallor, which extended even to his lips, was unabated, but
his first paroxysm of fear seemed, at any rate, to have become lessened.
He looked now like a man at bay indeed, but prepared to fight for his
life. He had evidently been dressed for the evening, for his white tie
was still hanging about his neck. Coat and waistcoat he had left behind
in his flight, but his black trousers were well and fashionably cut, and
his socks were of silk, with small colored clocks. The fingers were white
and delicate, and his nails well cared for. There was one thing more, the
most noticeable of all perhaps. Although his face was the face of a young