The sound of the gun in the small room was deafening. For a moment after it died away I could hear nothing else. But in that moment Ranville must have leaped for the lights and found them, for the next instant the room was a blaze of brightness, so much so that for a while I could barely see. When I was able to look around the room, it was only to see Ranville's eager face as his eyes swept every bit of furniture. Save for myself and the Englishman the room was empty. As we turned to glance at each other, there came the sharp bang of the front door. All at once Trouble out in the garage began to bark—deep, sinister barks, which became louder every second. Our eyes met, and then we rushed out into the hall, down its length and out to the door. Reaching it first I flung it wide and stumbled out onto the veranda. As I reached it I heard the sound of two men—two men struggling on the grass below. I ran back into the hall as Ranville hurried down the veranda steps. I was searching for the button of the porch light, and it seemed as if I could never find it. But find it I did, gave it one push, and the next instant the veranda was as light as day. Running out to the top of the steps I was just in time to see Bartley coming up their length—coming slowly and not alone. His pajamas were stained by the dirt and the grass. In one hand was his revolver which was shoved against the back of the man who walked in front of him—a man who walked slowly and reluctantly, a man whose face I could not see. He was a tall man whose hands were hidden by his side and who wore a dark suit. For a moment I wondered who it might be. Then there began to come a dawning recognition. Up the steps they came, and Bartley's face was very set. At the top step the man hesitated, only to have Bartley utter a sharp command and push against his back with the revolver. Then as they reached my side, the man lifted his head and looked at me. With one glance I recognized him. There before me, his yellow face calm as if he had just come from a pleasure trip, yet with his dark eyes flashing, was the gentleman who had visited us a while before. The Chinaman stood before us. Chapter XIII We Hear a Story—and—Discover It Is True No one spoke for a moment. Perhaps we were all too surprised to say anything. The calmest one of all was the oriental. His black suit was rumpled and covered with dirt from the path, but his face was calm and impassive. Only the narrow eyes gave any hint of feeling, and the glare in them was not a pleasant one. Then as with a short command Bartley pushed the gun closer against the man's back, we went into the house, down the hall, and into the living room.