In the same way, he knew not how, he knew that no danger threatened in the
footfalls that came up the cross street. Before he saw the walker, he knew
him for a belated pedestrian hurrying home. The walker came into view at
the crossing and disappeared on up the street. The man that watched, noted
a light that flared up in the window of a house on the corner, and as it
died down he knew it for an expiring match. This was conscious
identification of familiar phenomena, and through his mind flitted the
thought, "Wanted to know what time." In another house one room was
lighted. The light burned dimly and steadily, and he had the feel that it
was a sick-room.

He was especially interested in a house across the street in the middle of
the block. To this house he paid most attention. No matter what way he
looked, nor what way he walked, his looks and his steps always returned to
it. Except for an open window above the porch, there was nothing unusual
about the house. Nothing came in nor out. Nothing happened. There were
no lighted windows, nor had lights appeared and disappeared in any of the
windows. Yet it was the central point of his consideration. He rallied to
it each time after a divination of the state of the neighbourhood.

Despite his feel of things, he was not confident. He was supremely
conscious of the precariousness of his situation. Though unperturbed by
the footfalls of the chance pedestrian, he was as keyed up and sensitive
and ready to be startled as any timorous deer. He was aware of the
possibility of other intelligences prowling about in the darkness--
intelligences similar to his own in movement, perception, and divination.

Far down the street he caught a glimpse of something that moved. And he
knew it was no late home-goer, but menace and danger. He whistled twice to
the house across the street, then faded away shadow-like to the corner and