Yes; figures were moving swiftly against the trellised walls that led to the kitchen. They moved, too, with the precision of people thoroughly acquainted with the place. Then some one appeared swiftly from under the shadow of the house; then three came toward it and passed under the veranda near Wesley's window. Jack leaned far out to discover what this diversion meant. At the same instant the sounding gallopade of hoofs came from the tranquil roadway leading to the stables. The shrill whinny of horses broke on the air. "They are mounted. There are a score of them!" Jack cried, desperately. "We can at least keep them out of the house." "We can, if Wesley hasn't opened the doors to them," Dick said, shrewdly. "That's a fact. But is it sure Wesley is not in his room? Bring matches and let us examine it." There was no sign of Wesley in the room. The cool night air poured in from the open window. "Draw the curtain before you strike the match," Jack whispered. "We must not let a light be seen from the outside." "But the curtains are thin, the light will shine through." "Sh! Come here. By Heaven, it is Wesley, and he is dead! No--the devil!--it is Pizarro--dead! Kneel down and strike a match, keeping between the light and the window. One glance will be enough." One glimpse revealed the dog with distended tongue and half-glazed eyes, but still alive. Jack loosed the band from the neck. The dog gave a convulsive thrill and uttered a plaintive moan. "Set a basin of water down here. He may recover. Poor fellow! This was a cruel return for his kindness to Wesley," Jack said, forcing the dog's nose into the basin. He began to lap the cool water greedily. But now Dick, in the doorway, littered a cry. "They are in the house. I hear them moving in the vestibule. Come, for God's sake, Jack! They are making for Mrs. Atterbury's apartment. Evidently some one who knows that the family jewels are there, for what else can they want?" The dog staggered to his feet as the two stole softly from the room. They followed with high-wrought, loudly-beating hearts and tingling nerves. The marauders in front of them moved on like men accustomed to the house. They made, as the light footfalls indicated, straight for Mrs. Atterbury's door, which, unlike the others, fronted the length of the hall in a small vestibule sunk into the lateral wall. The invaders were thus screened from Jack and Dick when they had turned the corner, and the latter were forced to move with painful caution to get the advantage of surprise to offset superior numbers. But now a new peril menaces them. A shuffling in the long corridor behind them freezes the current of their blood. They have been caught in a trap. There are two forces in the house. They both turn and halt, silent and trembling, against the south wall and wait. The steps still advance, the scraping of the nailed boots tears the light matting.