The door flew open suddenly, hurling a blazing flood of forbidden illumination into Peter's eyes. A figure loomed in the doorway; the figure of a man whose shoulders seemed to stop the entrance, who towered threateningly above Peter. "Hey?" roared this outraged Titan. "What's this all about? Whatcha tryin' to--?" "--out!" ended Peter feebly. "L-lights out, if you don't mind, please, mister. It's an--an alert--" There came a sudden, menacing _snap!_ and Peter closed his eyes, wondering dimly which arm or leg was broken and why it didn't hurt. Then stunningly: "Sure, Warden!" came a husky whisper. "I fergot. I was list'nin' to the Tchi-cargo Symphony an' fergot all about the blackout. I'm sorry." And Peter opened his eyes to discover that the house was in jet blackness, and the big man was softly shutting the door! He turned and stumbled down the steps. But where he had been nervous before, he was now aflame with a strange and new sensation. A wild, heady sensation--the intoxication of power! For the first time in his mousy life, Peter Pettigrew had issued an order. And that order had been obeyed! Self-confidence, a feeling so rare in his past as to have been non-existent, swept through him like a hot torrent. His head lifted proudly; he trod on fluffy clouds. He drew a long, tremulous breath. "Warden!" he murmured happily. "_Warden_ Pettigrew!" * * * * * Then, as if something within him had been long waiting this moment, there came to pass the rebirth of Peter Pettigrew. The old Peter died, and occupant of his body was the cool, cagey, daring and resourceful Peter with thews of steel and heart of flame. And the renascent Peter, viewing this situation, was not satisfied. "Too dark!" decided the new Peter. "Too dangerously dark. _They_ might try something. I ought to have cat's eyes. Now, let me see--Aah! I have it!" And suddenly bethinking himself of the spectacles he wore to protect his eyes against harmful rays when he took an ultra-violet "sun bath" every week, he drew the shaded lenses from his pocket and slipped them over his eyes. It did not matter that the glasses--speaking from a purely physical standpoint--could not conceivably strengthen Peter's vision. He _thought_ they did, and that is what really counts. Great is the influence of mind over matter. With increased assurance, he stalked down the silent street to assume his post of duty before the Armory's portal. And it was then he saw the sinister stranger. * * * * *