On tiptoe Ike ascended to the parlor floor. He entered the front parlor, and as he flashed his light around he experienced a shock of surprise. There were articles of great value lying around; marble statues had rolled from their pedestals and had fallen to the floor, and on the walls were very valuable paintings, their frames moldy and the pictures apparently ruined. There was one picture that had been covered, and at a glance our hero discerned that it had been cared for—the only article in the room which had evidently ever been dusted or cleaned.
"A picture of the old fellow's wife," thought Ike, and after a moment he added: "I will have a glance at it."
The young man was doing a nervy piece of business, and yet he was as cool and deliberate as though in his own house. He moved about with great care and in a noiseless manner, and he advanced to the picture, removed the cloth, flashed his light upon it and recoiled as though gazing at an apparition. It was the one great surprise of his life.
There he stood, as he supposed gazing upon a portrait of Sara Sidney, the beautiful girl whom he had served in such a signal manner. He stood gazing in rapt attention, and so engrossed was he that he did not observe a counter-light in the room, nor become aware of the presence of another until he was startled almost to a condition of terror when a voice demanded:
"Who are you, and what do you want here?"
Ike turned and beheld a strange-looking old man standing within a few feet of him. In his hand the old man held a light, and his deep, sunken eyes were illuminated with a strange gleam as their glance rested on the ventriloquist.
"Are you Mr. Ward?"
"I am Mr. Ward," came the answer. "Who are you?"
"Your friend."