back of the house and suddenly stopped short.  This was a night of adventures, indeed!  On a level with the ground, the windows of one of the back rooms were boarded up.  Through the chinks he could distinctly see gleams of light.  Standing there, holding his breath, he could even hear the murmur of voices.  There were men there—­several of them, to judge by the sound.  He drew nearer and nearer until he found a chink through which he could see.  Then, for the first time, he hesitated.  It was not his affair, this.  There were mysteries connected with Pelham Lodge and its occupants which were surely no concern of his.  Why interfere?  Danger might come of it—­danger and other troubles.  Fenella would have told him if she had wished him to know.  She herself must have some idea as to the reason of this attempt upon her house.  Why not slip away quietly and forget it?  It was at least the most prudent course.  Then, as he hesitated, the memory of Sabatini’s words, so recently spoken, came into his mind.  Almost he could see him leaning back in his chair with the faint smile upon his lips.  “You have not the spirit for adventure!” Then Arnold hesitated no longer.  Choosing every footstep carefully, he crept to the window until he could press his face close to the chink through which the light gleamed out into the garden.

CHAPTER XVII

THE END OF AN EVENING

To see into the room at all, Arnold had been compelled to step down from the grass on to a narrow, tiled path about half a yard wide, which led to the back door.  Standing on this and peering through the chink in the boards, he gained at last a view of the interior of the house.  From the first, he had entered upon this search with a certain presentiment.  He looked into the room and shivered.  It was apparently the kitchen, and was unfurnished save for half a dozen rickety chairs, and a deal table in the middle of the room.  Upon this was stretched the body of a motionless man.  There were three others in the room.  One, who appeared to have some knowledge of medicine, had taken off his coat and was listening with his ear against the senseless man’s heart.  A brandy bottle stood upon the table.  They had evidently been doing what they could to restore him to consciousness.  Terrible though the sight was, Arnold found something else in that little room to kindle his emotion.  Two of the men were unknown to him—­dark-complexioned, ordinary middle-class people; but the third he recognized with a start.  It was Isaac who stood there, a little aloof, waiting somberly for what his companion’s verdict might be.