“Then where is he now?”

“I have no means of knowing—­safely away from the house, I hope.  I—­I left him here when I went down stairs; when I came back he was gone.”

“And you say he was wounded?”

“Certainly—­you ought to know, the blow of an assassin, not a soldier.”

She looked straight at me, her cheeks red, her eyes burning with indignation.  Then, as though she could bear my presence no longer, she swept into the room, and closed the door in my face.  It was an action of such utter contempt that I actually staggered back, grasping the rail of the stair.  What in the name of Heaven had gained possession of the girl?  What infernal lie had been told her?  By all the gods, I would find Le Gaire, and choke the truth out of him.  My head ached yet with the blow he had dealt me, but this hurt worse.  I had a reason now for running the man down.  Wherever he had gone, even into the Confederate camp, I vowed I would follow.  But first the house:  I could conceive of no way in which he could have gotten out—­there was a guard in front, and I had locked the rear door.  I went at the task deliberately, coolly, determined to overlook nothing.  There was something of value at stake now, and my mind was as busy as my hands and eyes.  How did he ever succeed in getting to Billie?  I had locked her door, and taken away the key.  It was not until I invaded the last room on the main floor that I solved this riddle—­the two apartments formed a suite with connecting door between.  However he was not there now, and all that remained to search was the servants’ ell.

The hallway narrowed, and was lower by a single step, the back stairs at the left.  There was no window, and with all the doors closed, I could see down only a portion of the way.  The hallway itself was gloomy, the shade of the rear window being closely drawn.  This, with the stillness all about, enabled me to hear the voices of the men in the kitchen below, and to become aware that the firing, sounding from a distance since early morning, seemed now much closer at hand.  It was not altogether artillery any longer, but I could plainly distinguish the volleys of musketry.  What could this signify?  Were the Confederates being forced back?  If so would the Hardy house be caught in the maelstrom of retreat?  The possibility of such a result only made haste more imperative.  There were three doors at the right, and two opposite.  I opened these cautiously, half expecting Le Gaire to dash out, with any weapon he might have secured, desperate enough to fight hard.  But nothing occurred, the rooms showed no sign of having been lately occupied.  I was at the one next to the last when a board creaked somewhere behind me, and I wheeled about instantly, and ran back to the head of the stairs.  There was nothing visible, and a glance down the front hall proved it also deserted—­only the door of Miss Willifred’s room stood slightly ajar.  She was watching me then, fearful lest the fellow