Nevertheless, he examined the Bokhara carefully when we went down, and when I finally went to sleep he was reading the only book in sight—_Elwell on Bridge_. The first rays of daylight were coming mistily into the room when he roused me. He had his finger on his lips, and he whispered sibilantly while I tried to draw on my distorted boots. “I think we have him,” he said triumphantly. “I’ve been looking around some, and I can tell you this much. Just before we came in through the window last night, another man came. Only—he did not drop, as you did. He swung over to the stair railing, and then down. The rail is scratched. He was long enough ahead of us to go into the dining-room and get a decanter out of the sideboard. He poured out the liquor into a glass, left the decanter there, and took the whisky into the library across the hall. Then—he broke into a desk, using a paper knife for a jimmy.” “Good Lord, Hotchkiss,” I exclaimed; “why, it may have been Sullivan himself! Confound your theories—he’s getting farther away every minute.” “It was Sullivan,” Hotchkiss returned imperturbably. “And he has not gone. His boots are by the library fire.” “He probably had a dozen pairs where he could get them,” I scoffed. “And while you and I sat and slept, the very man we want to get our hands on leered at us over that railing.” “Softly, softly, my friend,” Hotchkiss said, as I stamped into my other shoe. “I did not say he was gone. Don’t jump at conclusions. It is fatal to reasoning. As a matter of fact, he didn’t relish a night on the mountains any more than we did. After he had unintentionally frightened you almost into paralysis, what would my gentleman naturally do? Go out in the storm again? Not if I know the Alice-sit-by-the-fire type. He went up-stairs, well up near the roof, locked himself in and went to bed.” “And he is there now?” “He is there now.” We had no weapons. I am aware that the traditional hero is always armed, and that Hotchkiss as the low comedian should have had a revolver that missed fire. As a fact, we had nothing of the sort. Hotchkiss carried the fire tongs, but my sense of humor was too strong for me; I declined the poker. “All we want is a little peaceable conversation with him,” I demurred. “We can’t brain him first and converse with him afterward. And anyhow, while I can’t put my finger on the place, I think your theory is weak. If he wouldn’t run a hundred miles through fire and water to get away from us, then he is not the man we want.” Hotchkiss, however, was certain. He had found the room and listened outside the door to the sleeper’s heavy breathing, and so we climbed past luxurious suites, revealed in the deepening daylight, past long vistas of hall and boudoir. And we were both badly winded when we got there. It was a tower room, reached by narrow stairs, and well above the roof level. Hotchkiss was glowing.