moods in which one loses count of time, and Archie
could not have said how long he had been sitting in the deep arm-chair
near the window when he first became aware that he was not alone in the
room. He had closed his eyes, the better to meditate, so had not seen
anyone enter. Nor had he heard the door open. The first intimation
he had that somebody had come in was when some hard substance knocked
against some other hard object, producing a sharp sound which brought
him back to earth with a jerk.

He sat up silently. The fact that the room was still in darkness made it
obvious that something nefarious was afoot. Plainly there was dirty work
in preparation at the cross-roads. He stared into the blackness, and, as
his eyes grew accustomed to it, was presently able to see an indistinct
form bending over something on the floor. The sound of rather stertorous
breathing came to him.

Archie had many defects which prevented him being the perfect man,
but lack of courage was not one of them. His somewhat rudimentary
intelligence had occasionally led his superior officers during the war
to thank God that Great Britain had a Navy, but even these stern critics
had found nothing to complain of in the manner in which he bounded over
the top. Some of us are thinkers, others men of action. Archie was a man
of action, and he was out of his chair and sailing in the direction of
the back of the intruder's neck before a wiser man would have completed
his plan of campaign. The miscreant collapsed under him with a squashy
sound, like the wind going out of a pair of bellows, and Archie, taking
a firm seat on his spine, rubbed the other's face in the carpet and
awaited the progress of events.

At the end of half a minute it became apparent that there was going
to be no counter-attack. The dashing swiftness of the assault had
apparently had the effect of depriving the marauder of his entire stock
of breath. He was gurgling to himself in a pained sort of way and making
no effort to rise. Archie, feeling that it would be safe to get up
and switch on the light, did so, and, turning after completing this
manoeuvre, was greeted by the spectacle of his father-in-law, seated
on the floor in a breathless and dishevelled condition, blinking at the
sudden illumination. On the carpet beside Mr. Brewster lay a long knife,
and beside the knife lay the handsomely framed masterpiece of J. B.
Wheeler's fiancee, Miss Alice Wigmore. Archie stared at this coll