He stumbled slightly on a chair, held his breath, listened, went on, found the hall, found the stairs, started up; the seventh stair creaked at his step, the ninth, the fourteenth. He was counting them automatically. At the third creak he paused again for over a minute--and in that minute he felt more alone than he had ever felt before. Between the lines on patrol, even when alone, he had had behind him the moral support of half a billion people; now he was alone, pitted against that same moral pressure--a bandit. He had never felt this fear, yet he had never felt this exultation. The stairs came to an end, a doorway approached; he went in and listened to regular breathing. His feet were economical of steps and his body swayed sometimes at stretching as he felt over the bureau, pocketing all articles which held promise--he could not have enumerated them ten seconds afterward. He felt on a chair for possible trousers, found soft garments, women's lingerie. The corners of his mouth smiled mechanically. Another room . . . the same breathing, enlivened by one ghastly snort that sent his heart again on its tour of his breast. Round object--watch; chain; roll of bills; stick-pins; two rings--he remembered that he had got rings from the other bureau. He started out winced as a faint glow flashed in front of him, facing him. God!--it was the glow of his own wrist-watch on his outstretched arm. Down the stairs. He skipped two crumbing steps but found another. He was all right now, practically safe; as he neared the bottom he felt a slight boredom. He reached the dining-room --considered the silver--again decided against it. Back in his room at the boarding-house he examined the additions to his personal property: Sixty-five dollars in bills. A platinum ring with three medium diamonds, worth, probably, about seven hundred dollars. Diamonds were going up. A cheap gold-plated ring with the initials O. S. and the date inside--'03--probably a class-ring from school. Worth a few dollars. Unsalable. A red-cloth case containing a set of false teeth. A silver watch. A gold chain worth more than the watch. An empty ring-box. A little ivory Chinese god--probably a desk ornament. A dollar and sixty-two cents in small change. He put the money under his pillow and the other things in the toe of an infantry boot, stuffing a stocking in on top of them. Then for two hours his mind raced like a high-power engine here and there through his life, past and future, through fear and laughter. With a vague, inopportune wish that he were married, he fell into a deep sleep about half past five. VI Though the newspaper account of the burglary failed to mention the false teeth, they worried him considerably. The picture of a human waking in the cool dawn and groping for them in vain, of a soft, toothless breakfast, of a strange, hollow, lisping voice calling the police station, of weary, dispirited visits to the dentist, roused a great fatherly pity in him.