c knob. No light
appeared in the sconces.

"What the deuce!" he murmured; "something wrong with the switch!" And he
hurriedly lighted a match and peered into the darkness. By the vague
glimmer of the burning match he could distinguish nothing. He listened
intently, tried the electric switch again without success. The match
burned his fingers and he dropped it, watching the last red spark die
out in the darkness.

Something about the shadowy hallway seemed unfamiliar; he went to the
door, stepped out on the stoop, and looked up at the number on the
transom. It was thirty-eight; no doubt about the house. Hesitating, he
glanced around to see that his hansom was still there. It had
disappeared.

"What an idiot that cabman is!" he exclaimed, intensely annoyed at the
prospect of lugging his heavy suit case to a Madison Avenue car and
traveling with it to Harlem.

He looked up and down the dimly lighted street; east, an electric car
glided down Madison Avenue; west, the lights of Fifth Avenue glimmered
against the dark foliage of the Park. He stood a moment, angry at the
desertion of his cabman, then turned and reentered the dark hall,
closing the door behind him.

Up the staircase he felt his way to the first landing, and, lighting a
match, looked for the electric button.

"Am I crazy, or was there no electric button in this hall?" he thought.
The match burned low; he had to drop it. Perplexed, he struck another
match and opened the door leading into the front room, and stood on the
threshold a moment, looking about him at the linen-shrouded furniture
and pictures. This front room, closed for the summer, he had not before
entered, but he stepped in now, poking about for any possible intruder,
lighting match after match.

"I suppose I ought to go over this confounded house inch by inch," he
murmured. "What could have possessed me to leave the front door ajar
this morning?"

For an instant he thought that perhaps Mrs. Nolan, the woman who came in
the morning to make his bed, might have left the door open, but he knew
that couldn't be so, because he always waited for her to finish her work
and leave before he went out. So either he must have left the door open,
or some marauder had visited the house--was perhaps at that moment in
the house! And it was his duty to find out.

"I'd better be about it, too," he thought savagely, "or I'll never make
my train."

He struck his last match, looked around, and, seeing gas je