indow I peered through the pane. I could see the dim outline of a
table with some plates on it just inside, and putting my hand against
the bottom sash I gave it a gentle push. It yielded instantly, sliding
up several inches with a wheezy rattle that brought my heart into my
mouth.

For a moment or two I waited, listening intently for any sound of
movement within the house. Then, as nothing happened, I carefully
raised the sash a little higher, and poked my head in through the
empty window-frame.

It was the kitchen all right: there could be no doubt about that. A
strong smell of stale cooking pervaded the warm darkness, and that
musty odour brought tears of joy into my eyes. I took one long
luxurious sniff, and then with a last effort I hoisted myself up and
scrambled in over the low sill.

As my feet touched the floor there was a sharp click. A blinding flash
of light shot out from the darkness, striking me full in the face, and
at the same instant a voice remarked quietly but firmly: "Put up your
hands."

I put them up.

There was a short pause: then from the other end of the room a man in
a dressing-gown advanced slowly to the table in the centre. He was
holding a small electric torch in one hand and a revolver in the
other. He laid down the former with the light still pointing straight
at my face.

"If you attempt to move," he remarked pleasantly, "I shall blow your
brains out."

With this he walked to the side of the room, struck a match against
the wall, and reaching up turned on the gas.

I was much too dazed to do anything, even if I had had the chance. I
just stood there with my hands up, rocking slightly from side to side,
and wondering how long it would be before I tumbled over.

My captor remained for a moment under the light, peering at me in
silence. He seemed to be a man of about sixty--a thin, frail man
with white hair and a sharp, deeply lined face. He wore gold-rimmed
pince-nez, behind which a pair of hard grey eyes gleamed at me in
malicious amusement.

At last he took a step forward, still holding the revolver in his
hand.

"A stranger!" he observed. "Dear me--what a disappointment! I hope Mr.
Latimer is not ill?"

I had no idea what he was talking about, but his voice sounded very
far away.

"If you keep me standing like this much longer," I managed to jerk
out, "I shall most certainly faint."

I saw him raise his eyebrows in a sort of half-mocking smile.

"Indeed," he said,