He tested the terrace door and bolted it.

How much truth had there been in her story?
He could not decide, but he drew out his revolver nevertheless and gave it a quick inspection to see if it was in working order.

A smile crept over his face--the smile of a man who has dangerous work to do and does not shrink from the prospect.

He put the revolver back in his pocket and, taking the one lighted candle remaining, went out by the hall door, as the storm burst forth in fresh fury and the window-panes of the living-room rattled before a new reverberation of thunder.
For a moment, in the living-room, except for the thunder, all was silence.

Then the creak of surreptitious footsteps broke the stillness--light footsteps descending the alcove stairs where the gleaming eye had passed.
It was Dale slipping out of the house to keep her appointment with Richard Fleming.