spite of my assumption of indifference, I locked the door into
the hall, and finding the transom did not catch, I put a chair
cautiously before the door--it was not necessary to rouse Liddy--
and climbing up put on the ledge of the transom a small dressing-
mirror, so that any movement of the frame would send it crashing
down. Then, secure in my precautions, I went to bed.

I did not go to sleep at once. Liddy disturbed me just as I was
growing drowsy, by coming in and peering under the bed. She was
afraid to speak, however, because of her previous snubbing, and
went back, stopping in the doorway to sigh dismally.

Somewhere down-stairs a clock with a chime sang away the hours--
eleven-thirty, forty-five, twelve. And then the lights went out
to stay. The Casanova Electric Company shuts up shop and goes
home to bed at midnight: when one has a party, I believe it is
customary to fee the company, which will drink hot coffee and
keep awake a couple of hours longer. But the lights were gone
for good that night. Liddy had gone to sleep, as I knew she
would. She was a very unreliable person: always awake and ready
to talk when she wasn't wanted and dozing off to sleep when
she was. I called her once or twice, the only result being
an explosive snore that threatened her very windpipe--then I got
up and lighted a bedroom candle.

My bedroom and dressing room were above the big living-room on
the first floor. On the second floor a long corridor ran the
length of the house, with rooms opening from both sides. In the
wings were small corridors crossing the main one--the plan was
simplicity itself. And just as I got back into bed, I heard a