think. But not of Miss Camilla Van Arsdale. That was an old story,
though its chapters were few, and none of them as potentially eventful
as this intrusion of Vanneys and female chatterers.

It was the molasses pie that stuck in his mind. There was no time to
make another. Further, the thought of depredators hanging about
disturbed him. That shack of his was full of Aladdin treasures,
delivered by the summoned genii of the Great Book. Though it was secured
by Little Guardian locks and fortified with the Scarem Buzz alarm, he
did not feel sure of it. He decided to sleep there that night with his
.45-caliber Sure-shot revolver. Let them come again; he'd give 'em a
lesson! On second thought, he rebaited the window-ledge with a can of
Special Juicy Apricot Preserve. At ten o'clock he turned in, determined
to sleep lightly, and immediately plunged into fathomless depths of
unconsciousness, lulled by a singing wind and the drone of the rain.

A light, flashing across his eyes, awakened him. For a moment he lay,
dazed, confused by the gentle and unfamiliar oscillations of his
hammock. Another flicker of light and a rumble of thunder brought him to
his full senses. The rain had degenerated into a casual drizzle and the
wind had withdrawn into the higher areas. He heard some one moving
outside.

Very quietly he reached out to the stand at his elbow, got his revolver
and his flashlight, and slipped to the floor. The malefactor without was
approaching the window. Another flash of lightning would have revealed
much to Banneker had he not been crouching close under the sill, on the
inside, so that the radiance of his light, when he found the button,
should not expose him to a straight shot.