At the head of the stairs all was black; he paused and listened once more. Then the tiny beam of light flashed here and there. At the left was a door partly ajar. The light died, and he took a noiseless step forward. He could not see the door, now, but trusted to his judgment of distance to place his hand upon the knob. But his hand was yet reaching out, when the hinges of the door began to creak slowly in the silence. He grew as rigid as a statue, for every instinct told him that he was standing face to face with someone in the darkness. XV KENYON IN A NEW RÔLE “Take plenty of time. Keep cool. Don’t make a sound.” --_The Advice of Big Slim._ FOR a moment Kenyon literally held his breath. There was no movement, though his ears were strained to catch any sound. “Whoever it is,” he thought, “they are standing, listening, the same as I am.” With the greatest possible caution he drew back a step; the soft felt creepers prevented any noise and he exercised the greatest care that there should be no rustling of his clothing. He had retreated three or four steps when he touched the opposite wall; and as he stood listening he caught the creaking of the door once more, as though the unknown had opened it wider. Then there came a faint fall of footsteps, gentle and guarded; and through the thick darkness came the trembling whisper: “Who’s there?” Kenyon made no sound. There was a silence; then he heard a deep, long-drawn sigh--the sigh of one who has been waiting and listening. Then the whisper came once more--a woman’s voice. “I’m sure I saw a light--just for an instant.” Then something passed Kenyon. It was within a foot of him as it went by; but he could not detect even its lineaments, so impenetrable was the darkness. The footsteps were slow, cautious, and soft. His skin prickled for a moment as the nervous dread of the unknown was communicated to himself. Then the sounds died away at the other end of the hall. “It is Anna!” Kenyon told himself this positively. “And when I suspected a rival enterprise I was correct.” He slipped quietly within the room from which the unseen woman had just emerged. The curtains had been tightly drawn and the apartment was as inky as the hall. He feared to flash the torch, thinking that it might throw a reflection through the doorway. “It might not be the office after all,” thought Kenyon. “If it is not I’ll have gotten myself into a devil of a mess.” In taking the next step his hand touched a hard, polished surface; moving farther it came upon a clutter of papers, an ink-stand, pen-rack and other clerical requisites. “A desk,” muttered the adventurer. “And a good sized, flat-top desk, at that. This is the apartment I’m after.”