He peered about him, and suddenly the critical spirit arose again.
Burglars did far more than such mere elementary entrance as this:
they went into rooms, they forced safes. Well--he was not afraid.
He could not force safes, because that would be a stupid want
of consideration for his hosts. But he would go into rooms--he would
go upstairs. More: he told himself that he was perfectly secure;
an empty house could not be more reassuringly still. He had to clench
his hands, nevertheless, and summon all his resolution before he
began very softly to ascend the dim staircase, pausing for several
seconds between each step. Above was a square landing with one
open and several closed doors; and all the house was still. For
a moment he stood wondering what would happen if some sleeper
woke suddenly and emerged. The open door showed a moonlit bedroom,
the coverlet white and undisturbed. Into this room he crept in three
interminable minutes and took a piece of soap for his plunder--
his trophy. He turned to descend even more softly than he had
ascended. It was as easy as--

Hist! . . .

Footsteps! On the gravel outside the house--and then the noise of a
latchkey, the yawn and bang of a door, and the spitting of a match
in the hall below. Mr. Ledbetter stood petrified by the sudden
discovery of the folly upon which he had come. "How on earth am
I to get out of this?" said Mr. Ledbetter.

The hall grew bright with a candle flame, some heavy object bumped
against the umbrella-stand, and feet were ascending the staircase. In
a flash Mr. Ledbetter realised that his retreat was closed. He stood