Up the staircase he felt his way to the first landing, and, lighting a match, looked for the electric button.

“Am I crazy, or was there no electric button in this hall?” he thought.  The match burned low; he had to drop it.  Perplexed, he struck another match and opened the door leading into the front room, and stood on the threshold a moment, looking about him at the linen-shrouded furniture and pictures.  This front room, closed for the summer, he had not before entered, but he stepped in now, poking about for any possible intruder, lighting match after match.

“I suppose I ought to go over this confounded house inch by inch,” he murmured.  “What could have possessed me to leave the front door ajar this morning?”

For an instant he thought that perhaps Mrs. Nolan, the woman who came in the morning to make his bed, might have left the door open, but he knew that couldn’t be so, because he always waited for her to finish her work and leave before he went out.  So either he must have left the door open, or some marauder had visited the house—­was perhaps at that moment in the house!  And it was his duty to find out.

“I’d better be about it, too,” he thought savagely, “or I’ll never make my train.”

He struck his last match, looked around, and, seeing gas jets among the clustered electric bulbs of the sconces, tried to light one and succeeded.

He had left his suit case in the passageway between the front and rear rooms, and now, cautiously, stick in hand, he turned toward the dim corridor leading to the bedroom.  There was his suit case, anyway!  He picked it up and started to push open the door of the rear room; but at the same time, and before he could lay his hand on the knob, the door before him opened suddenly in a flood of light, and a woman stood there, dark against the gas-lit glare, a pistol waveringly extended in the general direction of his head.

CHAPTER XVI

“Good heavens!” he said, appalled, and dropped his suit case with a crash.

“W-what are you d-doing—­” She controlled her voice and the wavering weapon with an effort.  “What are you doing in this house?”

“Doing?  In this house?” he repeated, his eyes protruding in the direction of the unsteady pistol muzzle.  “What are you doing in this house—­if you don’t mind saying!”

“I—­I m-must ask you to put up your hands,” she said.  “If you move I shall certainly s-shoot off this pistol.”

“It will go off, anyway, if you handle it like that!” he said, exasperated.  “What do you mean by pointing it at me?”

“I mean to fire it off in a few moments if you don’t raise your hands above your head!”

He looked at the pistol; it was new and shiny; he looked at the athletic young figure silhouetted against the brilliant light.

“Well, if you make a point of it, of course.”  He slowly held up both hands, higher, then higher still.  “Upon my word!” he breathed.  “Held up by a woman!” And he said aloud, bitterly:  “No doubt you have assistance close at hand.”