Suddenly I became aware that his glance was not directly upon me, and I lifted my own eyes to the surface of the tarnished mirror behind where he sat.  It reflected the large portrait of the late Judge Henley hanging on the opposite wall, and—­by all the gods!—­I thought I saw it move, settle back into position!  I was upon my feet instantly, swinging aside into a better situation for defense.  Perhaps that seeming movement, swift and elusive, might be a figment of imagination, a mere trembling of the glass.  But I was taking no chances.  The very conception of some hidden peril threatening me from behind awoke the savage in me instantly.  Before Coombs could realize what had occurred I had the gun muzzle at the side of his head.

“Now answer,” I commanded sharply.  “Whose orders put you here?”

He choked, shrinking back helpless in the chair.

“By God! you won’t always have the drop on me—­”

“Well, I have now.  Speak up; who is the man?”

His eyes ranged along the wall, an expression in them like that of a whipped cur.

“Philip Henley,” he whispered, so low I scarcely caught the name.

“What!”

“Wal, I told yer,” he growled resentfully.  “Yer kin believe er not just as you please, but, so help me, that’s the truth.  I reckon I know.”

As I stared at him, half believing, half incredulous, I became conscious that she stood in the hall doorway.  Coombs lifted his head, glad of any respite, and I glanced aside also, dropping the revolver back into my coat pocket.

“You—­you were quarreling?” she asked, coming into the room, “you were so long I became anxious, and came down.”

“Nothing serious,” I assured her, smilingly.  “Coombs here was a little reluctant to impart information, and I was compelled to resort to primitive methods.  The result has been quite satisfactory.”

“Kin I go now?” he asked uneasily.

“Yes, by way of the front door.”

I watched his great hulking figure until he disappeared along the path leading around the house.  I had no fear that he would ever face me openly; all I needed to guard against was treachery.  Then I turned and looked into the questioning eyes of the woman.

“What did you learn?  What did he say?”

“Only one thing of real importance,” I answered in subdued tone, “and I dragged that out of him by threat.  He was not employed by Neale, and the fellow who was sent down here to assist us was disposed of in some way.”

“Killed, you mean?”

“I suspect as much, but Coombs claims he was kicked off the place, and returned North.”

For a moment she stood silent, breathing heavily, her eyes on my face.  In the pause I saw again the picture of the old Judge, and remembered.

“Why is he here then?  What authority has he?”

“Come outside into the garden, and I will tell you the whole story.  Somehow I feel here as though we were being watched every minute.  Never mind a hat; we will find shade somewhere.”