The cloud had disappeared, but my clothes were whitened, indicating where its particles had settled. Then the match burnt my fingers, and as it dropped down into the Stygian darkness I could descry its course till it became merely a faint red speck in that great depth. Lighting yet another match, and making a great effort to pull myself together, I slowly and carefully rose and crept away from that dangerous spot. Why need I go into further detail? Let it suffice for me to state that, with care and eagerness, I searched every room I could find, till my patience and my matches were exhausted--yet without avail. Evidently I had entered the wrong house! On the bottom flight I had to encounter and pass over the _debris_ which had fallen from above. The task was a difficult and perilous one, but eventually reaching the bottom, I stood on firm ground. My journey had been for naught; my clothes were covered with a white powder which all my resources failed to remove; and the task of regaining the street unobserved and unsuspected remained to be accomplished. I listened attentively. There was not a sound to be heard. All was silent and gloomy, save where the light from a street-lamp shone through a distant window in another room, making the outline of the door dimly visible. Cautiously and carefully I essayed to reach the pavement by the window which had afforded me an entrance. Suddenly I was startled by my wrists being seized from the outside, the hoarding removed in a trice, and ere an exclamation could escape me, I found myself in the grasp of a couple of stalwart constables. "What are you doing here--eh?" one asked, roughly, turning the insufferable glare of his lantern into my eyes. I tried to answer, but a dimness seemed to come over me, and the only recollection that remains of what followed was of darting across a road accompanied by my two captors, one of whom held me on each side. "`Being on unoccupied premises, supposed for an unlawful purpose--' eh?" suggested the man on my right. "That's it," replied the other, who had first spoken to me. Then I was dragged into a police-station. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. QUEER STRAITS. "Well, constable, what's the charge?" asked the inspector on duty, turning on his stool and surveying me critically. "Found him getting through the window of a house in Angel Court, Drury Lane, sir. The place is unoccupied, and we arrested him in the act of coming out," replied the man nearest me. "Stolen anything?" "No, sir; we think not: we haven't searched the premises yet." "Put him in the dock." "This way," commanded the constable, and I followed him into a bare, unfurnished room, where I entered the prisoners' dock, and leaned upon the steel rail, silent in perplexity. In a few moments the inspector came in and seated himself at the desk, saying,-- "Now then, look alive; charge him, and get on your beat again."