The men started down the ravine simultaneously, leaving Murray standing by the tree. The footman fidgeted for a second and glanced backward--the Secret Service agent’s advice was sound; his place was at the Porter mansion; it was not his business to assist in arresting malefactors. Murray glanced again at the men hastening toward the log cabin, and throwing reason to the far winds, he tore down the ravine, and caught up with them at the edge of the clearing. A shot rang out, and Anthony, slightly in the lead, faltered. But its echoes had hardly ceased to resound through the stillness when a second shot broke on their ears. With a muttered curse Anthony sprang forward and threw himself through the partly open cabin door, the other men following pellmell. Murray, the last to enter, stood appalled as he peered over Anthony’s shoulder at the tableau confronting them, then looked dumbly about the disordered cabin. Two large screens tumbled to one side, tables and chairs overturned, made a dramatic setting for the still figure lying crumpled up on the floor and the man crouching above it, a still smoking revolver held aloft. As the latter turned and faced the Secret Service operatives a strangled exclamation broke from Murray. “Dr. Thorne!” Thorne tossed the revolver to Anthony. “Take charge of that,” he said. “Have that window opened and switch on the lights,” nodding to a lamp, and Boyd turned on the current. “I must see how badly Dr. Noyes has hurt himself.” Anthony clutched the revolver, his eyes never leaving Thorne. “Do you mean to say that Dr. Noyes shot himself?” he demanded. “I do,” calmly, and Thorne busied himself in making a superficial examination of the wound. “Fortunately the bullet did not enter a vital point; lend me your handkerchiefs.” And with the assistance of Anthony he bound up the wound and rendered first aid. “Murray,” addressing the agitated footman whose fingers had been all thumbs in his efforts to help restore Noyes to consciousness, “return at once to the Porters’ and have Noyes’ room prepared for him, but first stop at my house for surgical supplies.” “Very good, sir,” and only lingering for one curious glance about the cabin, Murray departed. “Suppose two of you take the door off its hinges,” went on Thorne. “We can carry Noyes home on that.” Boyd hesitated and looked at Anthony for orders. Thorne was quick to note their suspicious glances. “Who are you?” he asked, as Anthony returned from a tour of inspection. “We are members of the United States Secret Service,” and again Anthony displayed his badge. “We came here to arrest a notorious counterfeiter.” “Sorry to disappoint you,” remarked Thorne dryly. Anthony flushed scarlet. “I find enough contraband property here to convict the owner as a dangerous counterfeiter,” he said. “You have not yet explained your presence, Dr. Thorne.”