This he lifted out and looked again at the wrapping. "The _Planet_, May twenty-fifth--and the page--the fourth page," he muttered. "This, probably, has nothing to do with the case. There'd be likely to be a notice of the closing of 'Dark Roads' that she'd have wanted to keep--but, anyway, now I've got the whole bag of tricks--and that's all I can do to-night, thank Heaven. Gee, but I'm tired!" He pushed his hand up through his hair, tilting his hat, which he had not removed, to an acute angle, and again he said, with feeling, "Thank Heaven, I'm through!" Then he replaced the package and closed and locked the trunk. He had just turned the key, and was still upon his knees, when his whole body suddenly stiffened. With a spring, he was upon his feet, and with one swift, soundless motion, he had turned out the light. Then he waited, every muscle tense, listening. In the solid darkness, far away at the other end of the hall, he heard the unmistakable sound of a key cautiously turned in a lock. CHAPTER XXIV "HANDS UP!" There was silence, absolute silence, and darkness impenetrable. Peter waited, breathless, listening, the one available sense sharpened to preternatural acuteness. Then faintly, faintly he heard the outer door move on its hinges, heard a tiny click as it closed again, was aware of a little gleam of light stealing along the floor, and of stealthy footsteps, coming nearer and nearer, as the light perceptibly increased. Inch by inch, without a sound, Peter crept behind the storeroom door. His right hand closed firmly on the edge and he drew it toward him, widening the crack between the door and the jamb sufficiently to be able to see the midnight intruder, if he--or she--came that far along the hall. Softly the cautious, secret footsteps continued their advance. The light was a distinct ray now, and Peter drew back into the shadow, keeping his eyes in a line with the narrow aperture. Then the light became a small, blinding circle, and as it flashed away Peter caught a dim glimpse of the figure behind it. The reflected light from the wall brought out the whites of the eyes and, less distinctly, the features of the face. Peter gave a little inward gasp of satisfaction. His right hand slipped swiftly back, with an accustomed gesture, and when he brought it forward again it was not empty. Silent and quick as a cat, he slid around the edge of the door. Three long, noiseless steps--a ring of cold steel pressed against a sweating neck, and: "Hands up, Angelo!" The voice was low and stern, filled with icy menace. There was a crash and a sobbing oath. Two trembling hands shot up into the air and remained there, rigid, protesting mutely against any need for violence.