pillow; to
get it, put out the light and open the door quietly, took only a minute.
I was in pajamas, barefoot, as on another almost similar occasion, but I
was better armed than before.

I got to the second floor without hearing or seeing anything suspicious,
but from there I could see that the light in the hall had been
extinguished. The unfamiliarity of the house, the knowledge of the
silent figure in the drawing-room at the foot of the stairs, and of
whatever might be waiting in the library beyond, made my position
uncomfortable, to say the least.

I don't believe in the man who is never afraid: he doesn't deserve the
credit he gets. It's the fellow who is scared to death, whose knees
knock together, and who totters rather than walks into danger, who is
the real hero. Not that I was as bad as that, but I would have liked to
know where the electric switch was, and to have seen the trap before I
put my head in.

The stairs were solidly built, and did not creak. I felt my way down by
the baluster, which required my right hand, and threw my revolver to my
left. I got safely to the bottom, and around the newel-post: there was
still a light in the library, and the door was not entirely closed.
Then, with my usual bad luck, I ran into a heap of folding chairs that
had been left by the undertaker, and if the crash paralyzed me, I don't
know what it did to the intruder in the library.

The light was out in an instant, and with concealment at an end, I broke
for the door and threw it open, standing there with my revolver leveled.
We--the man in the room, and I--were both in absolute darkness. He had
the advantage of me. He knew my location, and I could not guess his.

"Who is here?" I demanded.

Only silence, except that I seemed to hear rapid breathing.

"Speak up, or I'll shoot!" I said, not without an ugly feeling that he
might be--even probably was--taking careful aim by my voice. The
darkness was intolerable: I reached cautiously to the left and found,
just beyond the door frame, the electric switch. As I turned it the
light flashed up. The room was empty, but a portiere in a doorway at my
right was still shaking.

I leaped for the curtain and dragged it aside, to have a door just close
in my face. When I had jerked it open, I found myself in a short hall,
and there were footsteps to my left, I blundered along in the
semi-darkness, into a black void which must have been the dining-room,
for my outstretched hand