She did not even condescend to look at Max as she made the inquiry.

“A gentleman, Granny—­the gentleman I told you of, who came in with me because I was afraid to come in by myself.”

“But what’s he doing here now?  You’re not by yourself now.”

Max himself could hardly help laughing at this question and comment.

“I thought I ought to explain to you my appearance here,” said he, modestly.

“Very well, then; you can go as soon as you like.”

“Granny!” protested the girl in a whisper; “don’t be rude to him, Granny.  He’s been very kind.”

“Kind!  I dare say!”

Max thought it was time to go, and he rose and stood ready to make a little speech.  At that moment there was a noise in the outhouse, and both Mrs. Higgs and Carrie seemed suddenly to lose their interest in him, and to direct their attention to the door.

Then Mrs. Higgs made a sign to Carrie, who went out of the room and into the outhouse.  As Max turned to watch her, the light went out.

By this time Carrie had shut the door behind her, and Max was, as he supposed, alone with the old woman.  He was startled, and he made an attempt to find the door leading into the outhouse and to follow the girl; but this was not so easy.

While he was fumbling for the door, he found himself suddenly seized in a strong grip, and, taken unawares, he was unable to cope with an assailant so dexterous, so rapid in his movements, that, before Max had time to do more than realize that he was attacked, he was forced through an open doorway and flung violently to the ground.

Then a door was slammed, and there was silence.

As Max scrambled to his feet his hand, touched something clammy and cold.

It was a hand—­a dead hand.

Max uttered a cry of horror.  He remembered all that he had forgotten.  He knew now that the girl’s story was true, and that he was shut in the front room with the body of the murdered man.

CHAPTER XI.

A TRAP.

Max tried to find the door by which he had been thrown into the room.  The upper portion was of glass, he supposed, remembering the red curtain which hung on the other side of it.  But although he felt with his hands in the place where he supposed the door to be, he found nothing but wooden shelves, such as are usually found lining the walls of shops, and planks of rough wood.

He paused, looked around him, hoping that when his eyes got used to the darkness some faint ray of light coming either through the boarded-up front or through the glass upper half of the door, would enable him to take his bearings, or, at any rate, to help him avoid that uncanny “something” in the middle of the floor.