My heart beat fast. What if the enemy were before us? “Have you got your revolver handy?” I whispered to Dicky. “Two of 'em,” he chuckled. “There's a double dose for the man that wants it.” On a sudden turn the house loomed up before us, and a wild clamor of dogs broke the stillness of the night. “I hope they are tied,” I said, with a poor attempt to conceal my misgivings. “We'll have a lively time in a quarter of a minute if they aren't,” laughed Dicky, as he followed me. But the baying and barking came no nearer, and I helped Mrs. Knapp out of the carriage. She looked at the house closely. “This is the place,” she said, in an unmistakable tone of decision. “We must be quick. I wish something would quiet those dogs; they will bring the whole country out.” It seemed an hour before we could raise any one, but it may not have been three minutes before a voice came from behind the door. “Who's there?” “It is L. M. K.,” said Mrs. Knapp; then she added three words of gibberish that I took to be the passwords used to identify the friends of the boy. At the words there was the sound of bolts shooting back, and the heavy door opened enough to admit us. As we passed in, it was closed once more and the bolts shot home. Before us stood a short, heavy-set man, holding a candle. His face, which was stamped with much of the bulldog look in it, was smooth-shaven except for a bristling brown mustache. He looked inquiringly at us. “Is he here--the boy?” cried Mrs. Knapp, her voice choked with anxiety. “Yes,” said the man. “Do we move again?” He seemed to feel no surprise at the situation, and I inferred that it was not the first time he had changed quarters on a sudden at the darkest hour of the night. “At once,” said Mrs. Knapp, in her tone of decision. “It will take ten minutes to get ready,” said the man. “Come this way.” I was left standing alone by the door in the darkness, with a burden lifted from my mind. We had come in time. The single slip of paper left by Henry Wilton had been the means, through a strange combination of events, to point the way to the unknown hiding-place of the boy. He was still safe, and the enemy were on a false trail. I should not have to reproach myself with the sacrifice of the child. Yet my mind was far from easy. The enemy might have been misled, but if they had followed the road marked out in the diagram I had brought from their den, they were too close for comfort. I listened for any sound from the outside. The dogs had quieted down. Twice I thought I heard hoof-beats, and there was a chorus of barks from the rear of the house. But it was only the horses that had brought us hither, stamping impatiently as they waited. In a few minutes the wavering light of the candle reappeared. Mrs. Knapp was carrying a bundle that I took to be the boy, and the man brought a valise and a blanket. “It's all right,” said Mrs. Knapp. “No--I can carry him--I want to carry him.”