A slight noise made him turn his head. But nothing moved. Only a creak of the woodwork, he thought, and settled back again in his chair. [Pg 381] It was, in fact, a stealthy footfall he had heard. It came from the library, where a shabby figure crouched, listening, in the corner behind the tapestried screen—a man evilly clad, with a scarred cheek. It had been with no good purpose that Greef King had dogged the major these last days. He hugged a hot hatred grown to white heat in six years of prison labor within bleak walls at the clicking shoe-machine, or with the chain-gang on blazing or frosty turnpikes. He had slunk behind him that afternoon, creeping up the drive under cover of the bushes, and while the other talked with Uncle Jefferson, had skirted the house and entered from the farther side, through an open French window. Now as he peered from behind the screen, a poker, snatched from the fireplace, was in his hand. His furtive gaze fell upon a morocco-covered case on a commode by his side. He lifted its lid and his eyes narrowed as he saw that it held a pistol. He set down the poker noiselessly and took the weapon. He tilted it—it was rusted, but there were loads in the chambers. He crouched lower, with a whispered curse: the major was coming into the library, but not alone—the old nigger was with him! Uncle Jefferson bore a tray with a frosted goblet over whose rim peeped green leaves and which spread abroad an ambrosial odor, which the major [Pg 382]sniffed approvingly as the other set the burden on the desk at his elbow. “Majah,” said the latter solemnly, “you reck’n Mars’ John en Miss Shirley—” “Good lord!” said the major, wheeling to the small ormolu clock on the desk. “It’s ’most four o’clock. Haven’t you any idea where he’s gone?” “No, suh, less’n he’s gwineter look ovah dem walnut trees. Whut Ah’s gwine ter say—yo’ reck’n Mars’ John en Miss—” “Walnut trees? Is he going to sell them?” “Tree man come f’om up Norf’ somewhah ter see erbout et yistiddy. Yas, suh. Yo’ reck’n Mars’ John en—” “Nice pot of money tied up in that timber! He saw it right off. You’re a lucky old rascal to have him for a master.” “Hyuh, hyuh!” agreed Uncle Jefferson. “Dam’ry Co’ot er heap bettah dan drivin’ er ol’ stage ter de deepo fer drummahs en lightnin’-rod agents. Ah sho’ do pray de Good Man ter mek Mars’ John happy,” he added soberly, “but Ah’s mought’ly ’sturbed in mah mind—mought’ly ’sturbed!” The hidden watcher waited motionless. From where he stood he could look through the rear window. He waited till he saw the negro’s bent figure disappear into the kitchens. Then he noiselessly lifted himself upright, and resting the pistol [Pg 383]on the screen-top, took deliberate aim and pulled the trigger. The hammer clicked sharply on the worthless thirty-year old cartridge, and the major sprang around with an exclamation, as with an oath, the other dashed the screen aside and again pulled the trigger.