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