I can tell you I didn't stop to wonder what had happened. The danger of my position struck me with a bang, and in less time than it takes to say I had hurled myself sideways off the bed in the opposite direction from the door. I was only just in time. Almost before I reached the floor I heard the crash of an overturning table, and then something came down on the pillow with a wicked thud that made the whole bedstead tremble. I fell heavily full-length on the carpet, but it is extraordinary what activity danger will occasionally lend one. No cat could have recovered her feet more nimbly or leaped back into the darkness with such masterly swiftness. The wall of the room was only about a yard away, and I fetched up against it with a jar that nearly knocked the breath out of my body. There I stood, panting and shaken, but with the poker still gripped affectionately in my right hand. It was not exactly an inspiriting situation--especially to a man in pyjamas and bare feet. The only bright spot about it was that my visitor, having bungled his first shot, was no better off than I was. Indeed, if, as I imagined, he was none other than my new retainer, I held the trump card of being a good way the heftier of the two. I couldn't picture myself being slaughtered by Francis, even in the dark. Crouching down against the wall, I peered out into the blackness in front of me and listened intently. Since his first magnificent slap at the bed, my visitor had apparently rested on his laurels. I could hear him breathing quickly, but beyond that there was not the faintest sound. Not knowing what had happened to me, he was evidently waiting for inspiration. I did some rapid but necessary thinking. If I called out for help, it was just possible that I should be sealing my fate; for should he be armed with a revolver as well as his other weapon, he would doubtless blaze away in the direction of my voice. Apart from this, I felt a very strong desire to settle the matter without assistance from anyone. My best plan seemed to be to get to close quarters, trusting to Providence and the poker that I should get my slam in first. With this object in view, I began to creep noiselessly along the wainscoting, keeping my back against the wall. At the third step I ran against a small picture, which swung sideways and fell from its nail with a nerve-shaking crash. In a second I had dropped to the floor, where I crouched breathlessly, waiting the expected shot. None came, however: only a slight movement from the direction of the bed told me that my visitor was on the alert. I stayed as I was, straining my ears to catch the smallest sound; and then, very faint but just audible to my excellent sense of hearing, came the stealthy tread of an advancing footstep.