"You'll take me in! You!" He got up without changing the menacing position of the gun. "You walk in there--here, carry the candle--and take me to that bag. Quick, do you hear?" I was too bewildered to struggle. I got up dizzily, but when I tried to stoop for the candle I almost fell on it. My head cleared after a moment, and when I had picked up the candle I had a good chance to look at my assailant. He was staring at me, too. He was a young fellow, well dressed, and haggard beyond belief. "I don't know anything about a bag," I persisted, "but if you will give me your word there was nothing in it belonging to this house, I will take you in and let you look for it." The next moment he had lowered the revolver and clutched my arm. "Who in the devil's name _are_ you?" he asked wildly. I think the thing dawned on us both at the same moment. "My name is Knox," I said coolly, feeling for my handkerchief--my head was bleeding from a cut over the ear--"John Knox." "Knox!" Instead of showing relief; his manner showed greater consternation than ever. He snatched the candle from me and, holding it up, searched my face. "Then--good God--where is my traveling-bag?" "I have something in my head where you hit me," I said. "Perhaps that is it." But my sarcasm was lost on him. "I am Harry Wardrop," he said, "and I have been robbed, Mr. Knox. I was trying to get in the house without waking the family, and when I came back here to the front door, where I had left my valise, it was gone. I thought you were the thief when you came out, and--we've lost all this time. Somebody has followed me and robbed me!" "What was in the bag?" I asked, stepping to the edge of the porch and looking around, with the help of the candle. "Valuable papers," he said shortly. He seemed to be dazed and at a loss what to do next. We had both instinctively kept our voices low. "You are certain you left it here?" I asked. The thing seemed incredible in the quiet and peace of that neighborhood. "Where you are standing." Once more I began a desultory search, going down the steps and looking among the cannas that bordered the porch. Something glistened beside the step, and stooping down I discovered a small brown leather traveling-bag, apparently quite new. "Here it is," I said, not so gracious as I might have been; I had suffered considerably for that traveling-bag. The sight of it restored Wardrop's poise at once. His twitching features relaxed. "By Jove, I'm glad to see it," he said. "I can't explain, but--tremendous things were depending on that bag, Mr. Knox. I don't know how to apologize to you; I must have nearly brained you." "You did," I said grimly, and gave him the bag. The moment he took it I knew there was something wrong; he hurried into the house and lighted the library lamp. Then he opened the traveling-bag with shaking fingers. It was empty!