While he stood in the centre of the living room, a flickering match in his fingers, he heard something that sent his pulses to a faster beat. A faint sound as of stifled breathing came to him. There was one more room he had not examined, and it opened off the one in which he was standing. The choking respiration apparently reached him from this unseen chamber.
What lay beyond the closed door he did not know, but he had gone too far to retreat. If Pete and Whipple were there, and if they were waiting for him——
But that thought did not dismay him. He was thinking of Helen Brady, and hoping against hope that she was still in the house.
He let the match flicker out and, in the darkness, stepped to the door and pushed it open. The breathing was more distinct, but, apart from the person who caused the sound, there was no one else in the room. Matt lighted another match, and started back with an astounded exclamation.
On the floor, almost at his feet, lay Harris! He was bound, wrist and ankle, and a handkerchief gag was twisted between his jaws. The policeman's wide-open eyes were rolling, and he was doing his utmost to talk.
As soon as he had recovered himself somewhat, Matt stepped to a washstand and lighted a lamp that stood there; then, going down on his knees, he proceeded to free the officer of his bonds and the gag.
"Great Scott!" were the officer's first gasping words as he sat up and raised both hands to his head, "how, in the name of all that's good, do you happen to be here?"
"I was just going to ask you the same question," answered the bewildered Matt.
"Never had such a big surprise in my life!"
"Nor I, either. I came here looking for Helen Brady, but I thought there was no one at home, and I got through a window. How did you come here?"