"It must have been the wind," he murmured. "But, somehow, it didn't sound like it."
As he stepped into the dark hallway an uneasy feeling took possession of him—a feeling hard to define, and one for which he could not account.
"I think I had better go around and see that all the doors and windows are properly locked," he told himself. "Brother Randolph may have overlooked one of them."
He walked the length of the hallway, and stepped into the kitchen and over to a side window.
As he had his hand on the window-latch he heard a quick step directly behind him.
He started to turn, but before he could do so he received a blow on the head from a club that staggered him. Then he was jerked backward to the floor.
"Silence!" muttered a voice close to his ear. "Don't you dare to make a sound!"
"What does this mean—" he managed to gasp.
"Silence, I tell you!" was the short answer. "If you say another word,
I will hit you again!"
Having no desire to receive a blow that might render him totally unconscious, or, perhaps, take his life, Anderson Rover said no more. He heard a match struck, and then a bit of a tallow candle was lit and placed on the edge of the kitchen table.