The envelope was large, made of stout manila paper and sealed with two huge splotches of black wax. Across the face of it was written in a large, running hand: ESTATE OF STEPHEN AUSTIN. “This might be it,” thought Kenyon; and he shrugged his shoulders and laughed. “And when I come to think of it, somehow, it seems to me that this name is familiar to me. It is just as though--by George, yes! It is just as though I had heard it on the night of my adventure in Selden’s Square.” He looked at the envelope, swift eagerness in his eyes. “I’ll chance it,” he muttered. He was about to tear it open when suddenly a small white hand darted over his shoulder and snatched it from his grasp. He turned with a startled exclamation and caught a glimpse of a dark, cloaked figure; but at the same instant the lights were switched off. As he sprang up, he heard the door thrown open, and heedless of the darkness he darted toward it. Soft feet were running on the stairs. Kenyon paused and leaned against the door frame. “Gone,” said he, “and in another moment she’ll probably have the house in an uproar.” The words had no sooner left his lips than there came a muffled scream from the hall below. Kenyon leaped to the stair rail and bent over, listening. Then the lights below were switched on, flooding the stairway and hall; to Kenyon’s amazement he saw Griscom Forrester and Anna standing pale-faced and startled at the foot of the stairs; while confronting them with blazing eyes and a revolver in his hand was Farbush. XVI KENYON CALLS ON THE MAN FROM SAGINAW “And the brief news comes in the darkest night, That leads us on and on.” --_Doggerels of Balmacenso._ GARRY WEBSTER sat in his rooms, a high-ball before him, and a fat black cigar burning between his fingers, when Kenyon was announced early next evening. Webster demonstratively shook him by the hand. “Sit down and drink something,” said he. “I’m about as glad to see you as I’ve ever been to seen anyone in my life. Why, it’s at least two nights since I dined with you.” Kenyon waved away the Scotch, but lit a cigar. “Why all the pleasure?” he inquired, calmly. “Well, in view of your proceedings of late I think I was warranted in feeling slightly concerned about you. A fellow of your quality and disposition takes a fair chance of having someone run a knife into him. If I were you, Ken, I’d avoid dark and unfrequented spots, and I’d suspect people.” “That would be an attractive arrangement for a maiden lady,” said Kenyon, dryly, “but I don’t think it quite fills the bill of requirements of a man engaged in a more or less desperate game.” Webster looked at him observantly. “It’s still going on, then?” said he. Kenyon nodded.