get ready for the expedition.

The preparations were simple. He put on a pair of low shoes, very
light and with rubber heels. In them he could move with the softness
and the speed of a cat. Next he dressed in a dark-gray suit, knowing
that this is the color hardest to see at night. His old felt hat he
had discarded long before in favor of the prevailing style of the
average New Yorker. For this night expedition he put on a cap which
drew easily over his ears and had a long visor, shadowing the upper
part of his face. Since it might be necessary to remain as invisible
as possible, he obscured the last bit of white that showed in his
costume, with a black neck scarf.

Then he looked in the glass. A lean face looked back at him, the eyes
obscured under the cap, a stern, resolute face, with a distinct threat
about it. He hardly recognized himself in the face in the glass.

He went to his suit case and brought out his favorite revolver. It was
a long and ponderous weapon to be hidden beneath his clothes, but to
Ronicky Doone that gun was a friend well tried in many an adventure.
His fingers went deftly over it. It literally fell to pieces at his
touch, and he examined it cautiously and carefully in all its parts,
looking to the cartridges before he assembled the weapon again. For,
if it became necessary to shoot this evening, it would be necessary to
shoot to kill.

He then strolled down the street, passing the house opposite, with a
close scrutiny. A narrow, paved sidewalk ran between it and the house
on its right, and all the windows opening on this small court were
dark. Moreover, the house which was his quarry was set back several