Yet, at best, he was
wounded and in the hands of his enemies, a prisoner to the men who had
sought his life. It must be, however, that he was not yet recognized.
The transfer of the chase to me was proof that the scoundrels had been
misled by the resemblance between us, and by the letters found in the
coat. They were convinced that he was Giles Dudley, and that I was
Henry Wilton. As long as there was hope that he was alive I would
devote myself to searching for him and to helping him to recover his
liberty.
As I was hoping, speculating, planning thus, I was startled to hear a
step on the stair.
The sound was not one that need be thought out of place in such a house
and neighborhood even though the hour was past four in the morning.
But it struck a chill through me, and I listened with growing
apprehension as it mounted step by step.
The dread silence of the house that had cast its shadow of fear upon me
now seemed to become vocal with protest against this intrusion, and to
send warning through the halls. At last the step halted before my door
and a loud knock startled the echoes.
With a great bound my heart threw off its tremors, and I grasped the
revolver firmly:
"Who's there?"
"Open the door, sor; I've news for ye."
"Who are you?"
"Come now, no nonsense; I'm an officer."
I unlocked the door and stepped to one side. My bump of caution had
developed amazingly in the few hours I had spent in San Francisco, and,
in spite of his assurance, I thought best to avoid any chance of a rush
from my unknown friends, and to put myself in a good position to use my
revolver if necessary.
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