“The burglar-alarm, sir,” he said, with as little excitement as he might have announced the readiness of dinner. “The indicator points to Mr. Denby’s room.” “Good old Lambart,” his employer said heartily. “You go ahead, and we’ll follow. No, you keep the beastly thing,” he exclaimed, when the butler handed him the weapon. “You’re a better shot than I am, Lambart.” “Mikey,” Alice called to him, “if you’re going to be killed, I want to be killed, too.” The Harringtons followed the admirable Lambart up the stairway, while Nora gazed after them with a species of fascinated curiosity that was not compounded wholly of fear. Intensely alive to the vivid interest of these swiftly moving scenes through which she was passing, Nora--although she could scream with the best of them--was not in reality badly scared. “I don’t want to be killed,” she announced with decision. Monty moved to her side. He had an idea that if he must die or be arrested, he would like Nora to live on, cherishing the memory that he was a man. “Neither do I!” he cried. “I wish I’d never gone into this. I knew when I dreamed about Sing Sing last night that it meant something.” “Gone into what?” Nora demanded. “I’m liable to get shot any minute.” “What!” she cried anxiously. “This may be my last five minutes on earth, Nora.” “Oh, Monty,” she returned, “what have you done?” She looked at him in ecstatic admiration; never had he seemed so heroic and desirable. “Was it murder?” “If I come out of it alive, will you marry me?” he asked desperately. “Oh, Monty!” she exclaimed, and flung herself into his arms. “Why did you put it off so long?” “I didn’t need your protection so much,” he told her; “and anyway it takes a crisis like this to make me say what I really feel.” “I love you anyway, no matter what you’ve done,” she said contentedly. He looked at her more brightly. “I’m the happiest man in the world,” he declared, “providing,” he added cautiously, “I don’t get shot.” She raised her head from his shoulder and tapped the package in his pocket. “What’s that?” she asked. “That’s my heart,” he said sentimentally. “But why do you wear it on the right side?” she queried. “Oh, that,” he said more gravely, “I’d forgotten all about it. It belongs to Steve. That shows I love you,” he added firmly; “I’d forgotten all about it.” As he spoke there was the shrill call of a police whistle outside. “The police!” he gasped. “Don’t let them get you,” she whispered. “They are coming this way.” “Quick,” he said, grabbing her arm and leading her to a door. “We’ll hide here.” Now that danger, as he apprehended it, was definitely at hand, his spirits began to rise. He was of the kind which finds in suspense the greatest horror. They had barely reached the shelter of a door when Duncan and Gibbs ran in. “Come on, Harry,” Duncan called to the slower man, “he’s upstairs. Get your gun ready.”