A servant showed me my own room, and some time before midnight I went up, hoping that I might sleep.  My long life in the open air had made all rooms and roofs seem confining and distasteful to me, and I slept badly in the best of beds.  Now my restlessness so grew upon me that, some time past midnight, not having made any attempt to prepare for sleep, I arose, went quietly down the stair and out at the front door, to see if I could find more peace in the open air.  I sat down on the grass with my back against one of the big oaks, and so continued brooding moodily over my affairs, confused as they had now become.

By this time every one of the household had retired.  I was surprised, therefore, when I saw a faint streak of light from one of the windows flash out across the lawn.  Not wishing to intrude, I rose quietly and changed my position, passing around the tree.  Almost at that instant I saw the figure of a man appear from the shrubbery and walk directly toward the house, apparently headed for the window from which emerged the light.

I watched him advance, and when I saw him reach the heavily barred trellis which ran up to the second gallery, I felt confirmed in my suspicion that he was a burglar.  Approaching carefully in the shadow, I made a rapid run at him, and as his head was turned at the time, managed to catch him about the neck by an arm.  His face, thus thrown back, was illuminated by the flare of light.  I saw him plainly.  It was Gordon Orme!

The light disappeared.  There was no cry from above.  The great house, lying dark and silent, heard no alarm.  I did not stop to reason about this, but tightened my grip upon him in so fell a fashion that all his arts in wrestling could avail him nothing.  I had caught him from behind, and now I held him with a hand on each of his arms above the elbow.  No man could escape me when I had that hold.

He did not speak, but struggled silently with all his power.  At length he relaxed a trifle.  I stood close to him, slipped my left arm under his left along his back, and caught his right arm in my left hand.  Then I took from his pocket a pistol, which I put into my own.  I felt in his clothing, and finally discovered a knife, hidden in a scabbard at the back of his neck.  I drew it out—­a long-bladed, ivory thing I found it later, with gold let into the hilt and woven into the steel.

He eased himself in my grip as much as he could, waiting; as I knew, for his chance to twist and grapple with me.  I could feel him breathing deeply and easily, resting, waiting for his time, using his brains to aid his body with perfect deliberation.

“It’s no use, Orme,” I said to him, finally.  “I can wring your neck, or break your back, or twist your arms off, and by God!  I’ve a notion to do them all.  If you make any attempt to get away I’m going to kill you.  Now come along.”

I shoved him ahead of me, his arms pinioned, until we found a seat far away in a dark portion of the great front yard.  Here I pushed him down and took the other end of the seat, covering him with his own pistol.