A suspicious glance was all this remark drew out. “I don't believe you're mixed up with that crew, and I don't see how you can be interested in covering their tracks. Are you sure you aren't taking the wrong tack?” “I ain't covering anybody's tracks. You don't know what you're talking about.” “Can't you see that we don't enjoy breaking into people's houses and prying around in bedrooms?” “What do you do it for then?” “What do we do it for! Why, McGlory and his gang are Smugglers--they're a bad lot. And this man with me is a government officer.” “That ain't telling why you come _here_.” “Now, Van Deelen, what's the use of keeping up that bluff? It doesn't fool anybody. We know all about their coming here. We've tracked them this far. This officer will never leave the house until he has opened this door and seen who you've got in here. I can promise you he 'll act like a gentleman. Now don't you think it would be a good deal better just to open up and be done with it?” Having no reasonable answer to this, Van Deelen fell back into his sullen silence. “Wonder what's taking him so long,” Dick observed. “Would he have to go far for a rail?” There was no answer. Altogether, it was not a cheerful situation. Dick, who had borne up capitally so far, now experienced a sinking of spirits. He looked first at the glum figure before him, then at the dingy walls and ceiling, then down into the shadows of the stairway. Seeing nothing that could prop his spirits, he fell to humming “Baby Mine.” “Oh, I beg your pardon,” he broke out, interrupting himself; “maybe I'm disturbing your wife?” There was no answer. “You're a hilarious old bird,” said Dick. No answer--nothing but that glum Dutch face. “Oh, well--go to thunder!” Not even a gleam of anger disturbed those Dutch eyes. Dick, his feeble struggle over, succumbed to the gloom and was silent. And such silence as it was! The horse, over in the barn, had ceased kicking about; the air was still. The creakings of the old house sounded like the tread of feet. The loud breathing of the person within the closed room could be distinctly heard. There was a shot outside--then silence--two more shots--again the silence. It is curious how a revolver shot, in the stillness of the night, can be at once startling and insignificant. Curious, because it is not very loud--no deafening report--no reverberation--but merely a dead _thud_, as if the sound were smothered in a blanket. And yet it was loud enough to raise goose-flesh all over Dick's body and send the creepy feeling that we all know through the roots of his hair, as if a thousand ants had suddenly sprung into being there. At the first report he stiffened up; the second and third met his ears halfway down the stairs. Van Deelen, frightened, bewildered, ran down close after him.