“If I could have a cigarette, just now,” his thoughts went on, leaping from one thing to another, “I think it would help me. But I suppose it is too risky. Somehow that girl gave me an odd impression. I can’t get rid of the notion that there is another enterprise beside my own afoot here to-night. Take her fright at sight of me. Her relief when she found that I had not been asked to stay over night. Her anxiety that I should go. Her placing herself before me when I made as though to pass her. Her stealing down the staircase to make sure that I had taken my departure. “Another enterprise would mean what?” He smiled at this. “Heavens, how is it possible to form any sort of a judgment in this business. It gets more snarled every minute. I never did know just what my position was in it; and now I’m beginning to get tangled as to the relative positions and attitudes of the others concerned. But, pshaw! What’s the use. No amount of reasoning will do any good, when one hasn’t anything to use as a base.” Patiently he waited. An hour went by; then he heard the sound of chairs being drawn back. The ship-builder, Shallcross, took his departure, saying good-night to Farbush, who let him out. Then Farbush closed the door and came back through the hall. From the position which he had now taken behind a portière, Kenyon saw the man stop under the single light for a moment, his head bent as though in deep thought. Then with a gesture and a muttered oath he turned off the light; and the intruder listened to his slow, careful steps down the hall and up the stairway. Then there was silence. Once more Kenyon resumed the easy chair, leaning back with closed eyes, patiently waiting. Almost an hour went by. Then he arose to his feet and stretched himself, luxuriously. “It seems to me,” he mused, “as though I had been in this line of business for some time. Perhaps in a former state I was a famous cracksman. What an alarming idea! However, if it be true, I only hope that some of my one-time skill still lingers. I’ll have use for it to-night.” From his pocket he took a square of black silk with two round holes cut into it. This he snapped about his head with a rubber band, and pulled it down over his face. Then he buttoned his overcoat up to his chin. “The front of a dress shirt has a certain amount of sheen,” he said. “And I’d better provide for meeting anyone in the halls.” Upon his feet he drew a pair of soft felt creepers; then he stole noiselessly to the door and listened. All was still. Apparently the servants at the back of the house had also gone to bed. From his vest pocket he drew a tiny electric torch and, pressing the button, it shot its narrow shaft of light along the hall. Almost instantly, however, he shut it off, and began to ascend the stairs. “At the head of the first flight of stairs, said my friend the wine agent,” thought Kenyon. “But I wonder upon which side.”