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And so, when he came to an open and lighted window, and looked in and saw the sprawling body of Timber-Wolf, Babe Deveril unhesitatingly threw his leg over the sill and went in. In his judgment Standing was as good as dead, shot in the back. Well, that was no affair of his, and certainly he was not the man to grieve. Let "Serve him right" be his epitaph. Deveril, in a feverish haste, began to feel in the fallen man's pockets.

He found the bank-notes and stuffed them into his own pocket. At the window, as he turned back to it, while he heard men hammering at the locked door, he saw Lynette Brooke's white face. She had been watching him. Yet even that, in the present need for haste, made no impression. He slipped through, hearing a discordant shouting of many voices.

"We are in for it now," he panted. "Run!"

He caught her hand, and, holding it tight, the two raced into the darkness under the pines.

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Billy Winch was the first to come to the bolted door. He hopped swiftly down the hall and beat at it with his fists. Snarling and snapping, growling and finally whimpering, for the world like a dog, he cried out through his fierce mutterings: