It was not a sound which came floating in from the open windows. Instead, it came from the house—from below my room; a sound which lasted but a few seconds, then died away, and silence fell again. But when I heard it, I knew no noise of that kind should have disturbed me, for from below I had heard the crash of a chair—a chair falling to the floor. Sitting tense and upright in the bed, I listened for a moment. There came no other noise—only the soft rustling of the trees outside my window. Slipping out of bed, I went softly across the floor and into Bartley's room. By the side of his bed I paused. I could hear his low breathing as I gently shook his arm to waken him. In a moment he stirred, and when I knew he was awake, I told him what I had heard. The next second he was out of bed. The room was very dark, and I could not see him. But I heard him go to his table and open a drawer. Then he came back to my side and whispered: “We will get Ranville. As we have to go out in the hall, make no sound.” The hall was very wide, and the stairs came up in a wide sweep from the first floor. Our rooms were about half-way down the hallway, with Ranville's at the extreme end. Bartley opened the door so silently that I did not hear a sound; then with our hands on the wall we crept slowly down the hall. We found Ranville's door slightly ajar, and after we slipped into the room Bartley gently closed it. Ranville was sleeping very soundly, and Bartley had to shake him many times before he roused him. He woke slowly, saying something in a very sleepy voice. Then as he became wide awake, his tone became crisp as he wanted to know what was the matter. In a few words Bartley told him how I had heard a chair fall over in the living room. And then through the darkness came the eager whisper of the Englishman. “Where did you put that box of opium?” I heard a low chuckle from Bartley as he whispered back that it was well hidden in his own room. Then as Ranville slid out of bed, he asked what we should do. Bartley's answer was quick and low: “Of course, there must have been some one down stairs when the chair crashed. That is, unless Pelt was dreaming. Now you know professional thieves leave the door open for a fast getaway. I am going to slide out of your window, Ranville, along the roof of the veranda. You and Pelt can go downstairs, first giving me a moment's start. I want to be by the front door. When you get to the living room, try and turn on the lights. Take your gun and your flashlight.” Ranville went to his bureau, fumbled a moment in the dark, and came back to our side. He said in a low voice that he had his gun and the light. Then Bartley went over by the window. We could not see him very clearly, only as a darker shadow against the blackness. But we heard him as he took the screen out, and there came a soft scraping sound as he went out on the roof. As this died away, Ranville whispered: “Come on, Pelt,” and started for the door.