All he meant to do now was to secure certain evidence for future use. The stairs, being carpeted, gave forth no sound when he began ascending. He felt rather peculiar about this whole business—had this man been a stranger he would not have experienced this same uneasiness; but Joe Leslie—to think that he should be upon the track of his old friend, and with such a purpose in view. Once the stairs creaked under his weight and he stood still—the sound was preternaturally loud in an empty house; but there was no result, so that he presently continued his course of exploration. Vehicles rumbled past the house—he could hear them plainly, as though some window were open near at hand. Just as he reached the top of the stairs a cough reached his ears—it was a man who gave utterance to it, probably Joe. No voices? How singular! Eric Darrell’s wonder arose with each passing moment—strange to say, he was trembling all over now with excitement. No living soul had ever seen this man in such a condition before, which fact went to prove how deep his interest was in the game he was now pursuing. Not for worlds would he have stopped, now that his hand was on the plow. The end must be near, and Joe’s deep secret could not long remain such—it must be met and dragged to the light. Darrell looked around him, since he was now at the head of the stairs. The house seemed to be furnished throughout, and yet there seemed an air of desertion and loneliness about it, as though it lacked the daily care of a housekeeper—little things seemed to be lacking that would indicate the fact of its being a habitation that was occupied—where human beings lived and moved. Somehow this fact impressed itself on the detective’s mind. He did not have much time for thought, as action was necessary. When the brave soldier finds himself face to face with the enemy, he does not spend the minutes in reflection, but acts. So with Eric—he had looked forward to this period for quite a time, and now that it had arrived, he was not the one to tarry. Where was Joe? As nearly as he could place them the sounds had come from the front room. He crept silently along in that direction—the door was open, and nothing prevented his seeing the interior of the apartment. It was furnished, but did not contain a single occupant—light crept through the inside blinds, sufficient to show him this fact, and his wonder was simply increased to a fever heat. In the name of heaven, what did all this strange mystery mean—where was Joe—what freak induced him to come here, and— An odd, crackling sound reached his ears—ah! it proceeded from a small room used as a dressing-room, the door of which was closed. Eric crept over to it and listened—all was as still as death within. Baffled in this endeavor, he leaned against the door, pressing his ear close to the panel, to catch any voices—if conspirators were gathered there they must talk—this silence could not be long maintained.