She had a high courage and had seldom felt fear; physical fear, at least. But the servants never returned to this part of the house at night and were in bed and asleep shortly after nine o’clock. And the house was set far back from the road. And it must be nearly midnight. For a moment she lost her breath and shivered. Then she jerked her head angrily and shook her nerves into order. Her jewels had been sent to the bank and the pearls were in the safe. That hiding-place behind the panel in her grandmother’s room was known only to herself, Topper, Elsie, Polly, and Eustace. She blew out the candles, removed her slippers, and stole to the door leading into the hall. It opened without a sound and she hid behind it and peered out through the crack. The hall was dimly lighted. She saw no one, but again she heard that light footfall. It stopped as if in doubt, and she held her breath. Then it moved toward the library. She heard a door open, close. She tiptoed across the hall and up the stairs. Her bedroom door was open. She had closed it to shut in the warmth of the fire. She lit the gas and glanced about swiftly. Nothing, apparently, had been disturbed. Elsie, who was timid, had made her buy a pistol and keep it in the drawer of the table by her bed. She took it out, examined it to make sure it was still loaded, then crept down the stairs and listened at the door of the library. Soft light steps were pacing up and down. What on earth could the man want? There was no safe in the library. . . . The silver? She stole over to the dining-room. The silver was locked every night in safes concealed behind false doors in the lower part of two immense sideboards. She closed the door and lit the gas. There was no evidence that the room had been visited since Topper had put it in order for the night. She returned to the library door. The man was still pacing. He must be after the furniture and was awaiting the signal of a confederate. She had found little time for detective stories but she had read a few. And the furniture in the manor house was worth a small fortune. She flung open the door and raised the pistol. “Stick up your hands!” she commanded, recalling the formula. The room was in complete darkness but she saw a detached shadow move suddenly forward. “Don’t advance another step,” she cried, and hoped he would be too startled to perceive that her arm wabbled; she must be outlined against the faint light of the hall. “One step more and I’ll fire.” The man made a sudden bolt to the right and then a rush at her. She fired, and thought the house was crashing about her ears. But the man came on, and she darted to the other side of the room, realizing her mistake at once; she should have retreated to the hall.