Through an aperture that in more spacious days had probably been the site of a doorway, Mr. Bates passed in to his hotel. It was black inside, with that peculiar quality of blackness which seems to affect the breathing power, and there was a faint odour of immemorial cows. Mr. Bates struck a match, and by its spluttering light glanced nervously about him. Against the opposite wall he detected a rough manger, which seemed to be free of some of the less pleasing features of the floor. A year ago Mr. Bates might have sniffed at its possibilities as a bedstead, but recent experience had rendered him less critical. Igniting a second match, he made a further inspection, which resulted in the discovery of a couple of indescribably filthy sacks. One of these he rolled up into a pillow and placed in the manger, and then, scrambling in himself and lying down, he drew the other luxuriously over his tired limbs. Some twenty minutes later the sound of deep, steady breathing showed that he was temporarily oblivious of the discomforts of the ill-arranged planet. II One--two--three--four--five. The last stroke of the village church clock died slowly away, and only the dreary, persistent patter of the rain upon the dead leaves disturbed the uncanny stillness of a sleeping world. Mr. Bates stood irresolutely in the wet darkness, his hand upon the gate which led into the domains of Professor Stenson. At last, very cautiously, he pushed it open and stepped inside. Before him lay the drive, lined by laurels and overhung by several gaunt, leafless elms. It was even blacker than the roadway. Step by step he felt his way along, till all of a sudden the shrubbery came to an end, and he found himself at the edge of a small gravelled space facing the front door. At the side of the house he could just discern a path, which appeared to run round to the back. Crouching down and moving his feet as noiselessly as possible, he advanced along it, keeping one hand against the ivy-clad wall to guide his steps. After about twelve yards of this uncomfortable progress, he came round the corner into a small square yard. There was a back door with two windows on either side of it, while above these again were, apparently three rooms. All were in complete darkness. With his heart in his mouth, Mr. Bates crept up to the first window and peered through. He could see nothing. It was like staring into a sheet of black paper. For a second he hesitated, and then, placing his hand against the sash of the bottom pane, gave it a gentle tentative push. It yielded instantly to his pressure, sliding up a matter of two or three inches with a wheezy rattle that made him start back in a fresh access of alarm. Surely someone must have heard it! He half turned to run, and then paused irresolutely, his ears strained for the first sound of any movement within the house.