slipped through the kitchen-garden. The melon-houses winked at
me through the dark--I remember thinking that they knew what I
wanted to know. . . . By the stable a dog came out growling--but
he nosed me out, jumped on me, and went back. . . The house was
as dark as the grave. I knew everybody went to bed by ten. But
there might be a prowling servant--the kitchen-maid might have
come down to let in her Italian. I had to risk that, of course.
I crept around by the back door and hid in the shrubbery. Then I
listened. It was all as silent as death. I crossed over to the
house, pried open the pantry window and climbed in. I had a
little electric lamp in my pocket, and shielding it with my cap I
groped my way to the ice-box, opened it--and there was the little
French melon . . . only one.

"I stopped to listen--I was quite cool. Then I pulled out my
bottle of stuff and my syringe, and gave each section of the
melon a hypodermic. It was all done inside of three minutes--at
ten minutes to twelve I was back in the car. I got out of the
lane as quietly as I could, struck a back road that skirted the
village, and let the car out as soon as I was beyond the last
houses. I only stopped once on the way in, to drop the beard and
ulster into a pond. I had a big stone ready to weight them with
and they went down plump, like a dead body--and at two o'clock I
was back at my desk."

Granice stopped speaking and looked across the smoke-fumes at his
listener; but Denver's face remained inscrutable.

At length he said: "Why did you want to tell me this?"