etely barred any
outlook. He pressed his ear against the door, but heard nothing.

A second later he was at the window, feeling of the padlocked shutter.

He drew his penknife from his pocket. It was a tiny, ridiculous blade,
and it seemed futile to hope it would dig that stout staple out of the
sill; still, thought Martin, any sort of attempt was better than no
attempt.

He leaned over the sill and pecked away with his office tool. Of a
sudden, a draft of cold, fresh air rushed up into his face. At the
same instant, his other hand, which was leaning against the shutter,
felt the shutter bulge slightly outward, and his ears caught a
distinct, but not loud, scraping sound.

The sound increased, the bulge increased, the draft increased. Martin
felt the staple that held the padlock bending, felt, also, the prying
edge of a small steel bar between the sill edge and the shutter. Some
one was outside, breaking entrance.

He drew to one side, shrinking against the wall, instinctively holding
his breath. The prying of the shutter from without steadily continued.
Conjectures and hopes surged through his mind--it was a burglar, it was
the police, it was some unknown, unguessed friend. He didn't care who
it was so long as the shutter was opened.

His heart beat a bass-drum solo against his ribs. There were distinct,
rasping creaks from the window-sill--the staple was groaning at being
hauled from its wooden bed. There was a sharp crack, and the shutter
swung open. Martin heard a relieved grunt, felt the cool, fresh air
enveloping him, and saw a square of black sky, lighted with a few stars.

A hand grasped the window-sill and slid along it. Martin stared at the
hand, fascinated. It seemed no more than a writhing shadow.

Then a head abruptly bobbed into the square of uncertain light. It was
a familiar head; even against that dark background Martin recognized it
promptly; it was an unusually large head, surmounted by a ridiculously
small hat. A well remembered voice reached Martin's ear in a guarded
whisper:

"Miss Ruth, Miss Ruth! Are you there, Miss Ruth?"

It was the hunchback, Little Billy.

Martin's long-held breath exploded with a sudden pop. The hunchback
stiffened at the sound and hung motionless, half over the sill. He
peered into the dark room evidently endeavoring to locate the noise.

"Miss Ruth?" he hissed sharply.

Martin stepped from the wall towards the window.

"It is I," he comme