Claude got up and made his way to the front door, and when he had opened it very cautiously he saw Harding standing at the other end of the porch. The man straightened up, mounted the steps, and stood beside him.
“I thought you never was coming,” said he, and he fairly hissed out the words. “You see, if you had not come there would have been some murder done in this house.”
“Oh, I hope you will not try that,” said Claude.
“Then let the old man behave himself and do just as he is told. Now take us to the office, and then go and get the key.”
Claude pressed his hand against his heart to still its beatings and turned back into the house. A few steps brought them to the door of the office. It was light in there, for the moon was shining out of doors, and the first thing Harding did was to step across the room and raise one of the windows, so that he and his companion could have a chance for escape. Then he motioned for Claude to go ahead; but now another thought occurred to him. Suppose Harding, instead of trusting him to go alone into the room, should send his partner with him? That would be a misfortune indeed, for he did not see how he was to convey to his uncle the information that the two squawmen were in his office. He dared not hesitate, but turned and went to his uncle’s room, and to his great delight he went alone. The men did not hear him as he walked along the hall, and when he approached the door of his uncle’s room, which always stood open, he discovered a figure on the bed, and he saw it rise up as he stepped across the threshold.
“Claude!” said his uncle.
“It is I,” replied Claude in a trembling voice. “They’re in the office!”
Mr. Preston immediately arose, and in his hand, which he pulled out from under his pillow, was a revolver. It looked now as though his uncle was going to shoot, too.