HE tread reached the landing and proceeded to mount higher. Then it hesitated. Another match was struck and it commenced to descend. On arriving at the landing again, it halted uncertain. The handle of the door was tried. The door swung open and a man peered across the threshold. No one spoke. The little lady on the couch drew Joan closer to her side and held her breath, hoping that the man might not observe them and that, when he had gone, they might escape. But the man did not go, he stood there on the alert, listening and searching the darkness. It was Robbie who spoke first. He had thrust his hands deep into his knickerbockers' pockets to gain courage. “What do you want? We think you might speak,” he said. The man laughed pleasantly. “I'm sorry if I've frightened you. I didn't know that anyone was here. I thought this was an empty house. Perhaps you weren't aware of it, but you'd left your front-door open.” Then, because no one replied, he added, “It's all right now; it's closed.” He wasn't looking at Robbie any longer. He was trying to probe the shadows by the fireplace, where he had caught the rustle of a woman's dress. He had caught something else--the faint sweet fragrance of Jacqueminot. “I've alarmed you,” he said. “I'm a stranger in London and I couldn't find any way out of your square. I strayed into your house for shelter. I'm sorry I intruded. Good-night to you all, however many there are of you.” He was actually going. It was impossible to see what he looked like, but he was evidently well-mannered and a gentleman. Suddenly to the lady in the lonely house, from being a creature of dread, he became a heaven-sent protector. Who could tell how many less desirable visitors might not call before the raid was ended? The care-taker might return. Were that to happen, it would be much more comfortable to have this male trespasser present to help make the explanations. Just as he was withdrawing, the lady rose from the shabby couch and called him back. “Oh, please, we'd much rather you didn't go.” “But who are we?” “I and Robbie and Joan. We did the same thing as you. The house doesn't belong to us. We got caught, just as you did. We were terribly scared and... and it's creepy being in an empty, strange house where you haven't any right to be.” Though she could only see the blur of him, she could feel the smile that was in his eyes when she had finished her appeal. And it was an appeal, eager and nervous and tremulous. The tears in her voice said much more than the words. As he turned on his heel, she heard the jingle of his spurs and guessed that he was a man in khaki. “I'm on my way to France,” he said, speaking slowly; “I only landed yesterday. I was lonely too; I didn't know a soul. A queer way to make a friend!” As he stepped into the room, the light from the windows fell on him; he was dressed in the uniform of an American officer.