"We'll see what," returned Ferral grimly, getting to his feet and starting for the hall.
Matt followed him, sword in hand, and ready for any emergency that might present itself.
[CHAPTER V.]
SERCOMB.
The rapping on the door had grown to a vigorous thumping before Ferral and Matt reached the entrance. Quickly throwing the bolt, Ferral pulled the door open and a young man of twenty-one or two stepped in.
He was well built and muscular and had a smooth, harmless face. The face was so void of expression that, to Matt, it showed a lack of character.
Ferral was carrying the candle. Through its gleams, he and the newcomer stared at each other.
"Why—why," murmured the youth who had just entered, "can this be my cousin Dick?"
"You've taken my soundings all right, Sercomb," answered Ferral coolly. "Wasn't you expecting me?"