The window was open, but there was no method of reaching safety. Here the wall dropped sheerly to the bottom of the area, and if you missed the area there was a row of sharp, spiked railings. Gordon decided to go to bed. For an hour he tossed from side to side, his nerves on edge, sleep farther from him than ever. There might be a spare key to the room in one of the drawers. He searched diligently, but without success. Then he tried the door. From somewhere outside came the sound of a knife-cleaner working eccentrically. Or it may have been the noise of a carpet-sweeper being pushed across the floor by one who had no conception of rhythm. As he turned the handle, the noise ceased and a voice said: “Sleep well, Uncle Isaac.” Mr. Superbus, that faithful watch dog, was sleeping on the mat. CHAPTER XVI Diana stirred uneasily in her sleep and woke. There was no sound but the distant snore of Mr. Superbus, but she had an uncanny instinct that all was not well. Slipping out of bed, she pulled on her dressing-gown and looked out of the window. She saw a figure on the sidewalk. A man, slight of build, round-shouldered. She saw him clearly in the light of the street standard which was immediately opposite the house. She guessed his face rather than saw it, and wondered where she had seen him before. Stark, the window-cleaner! Now she knew him. As she looked, he stood back quickly, bringing himself against the railings. Craning her neck, she saw a shadowy policeman slowly passing the end of the street. He reached the opposite corner and stopped, came a few steps down Cheynel Gardens and stopped again. There was the flare of a match. It was the hour when policemen produce surreptitious pipes in defiance of all regulations. The figure against the railings remained motionless. “What do you want?” demanded Diana. Mr. Stark looked up. “Nothing, lady. I can’t sleep,” he stammered. “See the policeman: he’ll nurse you,” said Diana. He disappeared up the passage leading to the courtyard, but presently he came back and walked boldly back to the main street. Diana saw the smoking policeman cross the road. There was a brief conversation and Mr. Stark disappeared. Diana thought she had seen the policeman’s hands moving scientifically over the loafer’s body. She was thoroughly awake now. The hour was 3.15. She took up her handbag, unlocked and opened her door and listened. The watchful Julius was awake instantly. “It is only I, Mr. Superbus,” she said, relieved to find him so alert. “I am afraid you’re having a very uncomfortable time.” “No, miss: I seldom sleep. Napoleon was that way by all accounts. Want anything, ma’am?” “I’m going to make myself a cup of tea,” she said, and went down the gloomy stairs to the kitchen. She was very hungry--she made tea, found a tinful of biscuits and called her protector in a whisper to share the feast. “We might as well have some light,” she said, and lit the hall lamp. “Come in, Mr. Superbus.”