CHAPTER XVI
ANOTHER MYSTERY
I could see nothing, the circular staircase a mere dark blur barely distinguishable, yet, faint as the sounds were, I was convinced some one was stealthily descending step by step, feeling a way cautiously through the gloom. Who could it be? What purpose could account for such a presence? I felt no doubt that this was the murderer, seeking to complete his work of blood, but how could I meet him? With a shot, ending his career with one pressure of my finger against the trigger? Or should I attempt taking him alive, thus the more thoroughly vindicating myself of all suspicion? Had I been older undoubtedly I would have chosen the safer method, but, as it was, I felt confidence in my strength and in the advantage of surprise, and was urged into recklessness by a desire to prove before Jean Denslow the extent of my courage. Thrusting the half-drawn revolver back into the belt, I crept forward to the foot of the stairs, crouching down within the shadow of the parlor doorway. Step by step the intruder came down toward me, yet he was almost within reach of my arm before I could make out even the dim smudge of his form, a shapeless shadow, but looking burly enough. A step more, and I could see a hand grasping the banister, and that a circular cloak
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