"It was a cloudy night, too--everything served me. I dined quietly,
and sat down at my desk. Kate had one of her usual headaches, and
went to bed early. As soon as she was gone I slipped out. I had got
together a sort of disguise--red beard and queer-looking ulster. I
shoved them into a bag, and went round to the garage. There was no
one there but a half-drunken machinist whom I'd never seen before.
That served me, too. They were always changing machinists, and this
new fellow didn't even bother to ask if the car belonged to me. It
was a very easy-going place...

"Well, I jumped in, ran up Broadway, and let the car go as soon as I
was out of Harlem. Dark as it was, I could trust myself to strike a
sharp pace. In the shadow of a wood I stopped a second and got into
the beard and ulster. Then away again--it was just eleven-thirty
when I got to Wrenfield.

"I left the car in a dark lane behind the Lenman place, and 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.