“Good Lord, Hotchkiss,” I exclaimed; “why, it may have been Sullivan himself!  Confound your theories—­he’s getting farther away every minute.”

“It was Sullivan,” Hotchkiss returned imperturbably.  “And he has not gone.  His boots are by the library fire.”

“He probably had a dozen pairs where he could get them,” I scoffed.  “And while you and I sat and slept, the very man we want to get our hands on leered at us over that railing.”

“Softly, softly, my friend,” Hotchkiss said, as I stamped into my other shoe.  “I did not say he was gone.  Don’t jump at conclusions.  It is fatal to reasoning.  As a matter of fact, he didn’t relish a night on the mountains any more than we did.  After he had unintentionally frightened you almost into paralysis, what would my gentleman naturally do?  Go out in the storm again?  Not if I know the Alice-sit-by-the-fire type.  He went up-stairs, well up near the roof, locked himself in and went to bed.”

“And he is there now?”

“He is there now.”

We had no weapons.  I am aware that the traditional hero is always armed, and that Hotchkiss as the low comedian should have had a revolver that missed fire.  As a fact, we had nothing of the sort.  Hotchkiss carried the fire tongs, but my sense of humor was too strong for me; I declined the poker.

“All we want is a little peaceable conversation with him,” I demurred.  “We can’t brain him first and converse with him afterward.  And anyhow, while I can’t put my finger on the place, I think your theory is weak.  If he wouldn’t run a hundred miles through fire and water to get away from us, then he is not the man we want.”

Hotchkiss, however, was certain.  He had found the room and listened outside the door to the sleeper’s heavy breathing, and so we climbed past luxurious suites, revealed in the deepening daylight, past long vistas of hall and boudoir.  And we were both badly winded when we got there.  It was a tower room, reached by narrow stairs, and well above the roof level.  Hotchkiss was glowing.

“It is partly good luck, but not all,” he panted in a whisper.  “If we had persisted in the search last night, he would have taken alarm and fled.  Now—­we have him.  Are you ready?”

He gave a mighty rap at the door with the fire tongs, and stood expectant.  Certainly he was right; some one moved within.

“Hello!  Hello there!” Hotchkiss bawled.  “You might as well come out.  We won’t hurt you, if you’ll come peaceably.”

“Tell him we represent the law,” I prompted.  “That’s the customary thing, you know.”

But at that moment a bullet came squarely through the door and flattened itself with a sharp pst against the wall of the tower staircase.  We ducked unanimously, dropped back out of range, and Hotchkiss retaliated with a spirited bang at the door with the tongs.  This brought another bullet.  It was a ridiculous situation.  Under the circumstances, no doubt, we should have retired, at least until we had armed ourselves, but Hotchkiss had no end of fighting spirit, and as for me, my blood was up.