“Well, I reckon we don’t want to show ’em they’re expected;” and he got up and closed the window. “And we shall have plenty of other time to talk, so we’ll keep a close lip. From what you told me, this is the night they’re most likely to try some hanky-panky. I guess, too, we don’t want too fresh smoke for ’em to smell, so I’ll shake my pipe out.” He did so and drew his chair away from the window, and I followed his example. I was wrong about not being able to sleep. After a time I dozed off and, at Burroughs’ suggestion, lay down on a sofa close to him and went off into a sound sleep. From a dream that I was being smothered I awoke to find a hand pressed tightly on my mouth. “Hsh! Wake up. Something’s happening,” whispered Burroughs. I looked round the room. It was almost dark, for the moonlight was no longer streaming through the window. I had evidently been asleep some hours. Then Burroughs caught my sleeve and pulled it upwards. A sign to me to get up. When I stood up he put his lips to my ear and whispered: “You stay this side of the window. I’ll go to the other.” Without making a sound he crept away from me. I stood listening intently, and presently bent down and peered cautiously at the window. There was neither sign nor sound of anything. The seconds of suspense lengthened into minutes. Burroughs had clearly deceived himself. And just when I was on the point of telling him so, the form of a man showed on the verandah. In a second I was on my feet again in the shadow of the curtain. Cautiously the window was pushed open. A man entered and stood motionless as a statue, listening and peering round the room. With absolutely noiseless tread he stepped forward a couple of paces, paused again, and then returned to the balcony. A couple of minutes passed before he re-entered, this time with a companion. The second man remained close to the window. The small circle light of an electric lamp carried by the first comer flashed for an instant, and then he started to cross the room. CHAPTER XVII A LITTLE CHESS PROBLEM As soon as the two men were separated in this way, I realized that Burroughs had made a mistake in tactics. We ought to have stayed together. As it was, I did not know which of the two he meant to tackle. It turned out that he was in the same uncertainty about me; but he saw that the man who had crossed the room was going to switch on the electric light, and to prevent this he sprang on him and shouted to me to seize the other fellow. I might as well have tried to seize a stroke of lightning. Before my companion had half finished his sentence, the man was out of the room and over the balcony railing, and it would have been sheer folly to attempt any pursuit. Meanwhile, Burroughs, who was as strong as a bullock, had collared his man, holding his hands behind him in a grip of iron. I closed the jalousies and fastened them, and then shut the window and fastened that, and then switched up the light.