ned his hot forehead against the
pane. Neither of them spoke again until they reached Manhattan
Transfer, where they changed for the Hudson Terminal.

It was seven o'clock when they hurried out of the subway terminus at
Atlantic Avenue. It was a raw, damp evening, but the streets had
already begun to bustle with their nightly exuberance of light and
colour. The yellow glitter of a pawnshop window reminded Aubrey of the
small revolver in his pocket. As they passed a dark alley, he stepped
aside to load the weapon.

"Have you anything of this sort with you?" he said, showing it to Roger.

"Good Lord, no," said the bookseller. "What do you think I am, a
moving-picture hero?"

Down Gissing Street the younger man set so rapid a pace that his
companion had to trot to keep abreast. The placid vista of the little
street was reassuring. Under the glowing effusion of the shop windows
the pavement was a path of checkered brightness. In Weintraub's
pharmacy they could see the pasty-faced assistant in his stained white
coat serving a beaker of hot chocolate. In the stationer's shop people
were looking over trays of Christmas cards. In the Milwaukee Lunch
Aubrey saw (and envied) a sturdy citizen peacefully dipping a doughnut
into a cup of coffee.

"This all seems very unreal," said Roger.

As they neared the bookshop, Aubrey's heart gave a jerk of
apprehension. The blinds in the front windows had been drawn down. A
dull shining came through them, showing that the lights were turned on
inside. But why should the shades be lowered with closing time three
hours away?

They reached the front door, and Aubrey was about to seize the handle
when Roger halted him.

"Wait a moment," he said. "Let's go in quietly. There may be
something queer going on."

Aubrey turned the knob gently. The door was locked.

Roger pulled out his latchkey and cautiously released the bolt. Then
he opened the door slightly--about an inch.

"You're taller than I am," he whispered. "Reach up and muffle the bell
above the door while I open it."

Aubrey thrust three fingers through the aperture and blocked the
trigger of the gong. Then Roger pushed the door wide, and they tiptoed
in.

The shop was empty, and apparently normal. They stood for an instant
with pounding pulses.

From the back of the house came a clear voice, a little tremulous:

"You can do what you like, I shan't tell you where it is. Mr. Mifflin
said----"

Ther