Again he heard a soft sound--he heard it quite certainly this time and without the possibility of making a mistake. He was not alone in the hall. Somebody else was there, moving as stealthily as he was. His heart beat suddenly very fast. With a sudden spring he jumped to the electric switch and turned on the lights. The sudden glare made him blink--but he saw plainly enough. Not four feet away stood Rupert Bateman. "My goodness, Pongo," cried Jimmy, "you did give me a start. Slinking about like that in the dark." "I heard a noise," explained Mr. Bateman severely. "I thought burglars had got in and I came down to see." Jimmy looked thoughtfully at Mr. Bateman's rubber-soled feet. "You think of everything, Pongo," he said genially. "Even a lethal weapon." His eye rested on the bulge in the other's pocket. "It's as well to be armed. One never knows whom one may meet." "I am glad you didn't shoot," said Jimmy. "I'm a bit tired of being shot at." "I might easily have done so," said Mr. Bateman. "It would be dead against the law if you did," said Jimmy. "You've got to make quite sure the beggar's house-breaking, you know, before you pot at him. You mustn't jump to conclusions. Otherwise you'd have to explain why you shot a guest on a perfectly innocent errand like mine." "By the way, what did you come down for?" "I was hungry," said Jimmy. "I rather fancied a dry biscuit." "There are some biscuits in a tin by your bed," said Rupert Bateman. He was staring at Jimmy very intently through his horn-rimmed spectacles. "Ah! That's where the staff work has gone wrong, old boy. There's a tin there with 'Biscuits for Starving Visitors' on it. But when the starving visitor opened it--nothing inside. So I just toddled down to the dining-room." And with a sweet, ingenuous smile, Jimmy produced from his dressing-gown pocket a handful of biscuits. There was a moment's pause. "And now I think I'll toddle back to bed," said Jimmy. "Night-night, Pongo." With an affectation of nonchalance, he mounted the staircase. Rupert Bateman followed him. At the doorway of his room, Jimmy paused as if to say good-night once more. "It's an extraordinary thing about these biscuits," said Mr. Bateman. "Do you mind if I just--" "Certainly, laddie, look for yourself." Mr. Bateman strode across the room, opened the biscuit box and stared at its emptiness. "Very remiss," he murmured. "Well, good-night." He withdrew. Jimmy sat on the edge of his bed listening for a minute. "That was a narrow shave," he murmured to himself. "Suspicious sort of chap, Pongo. Never seems to sleep. Nasty habit of his prowling around with a revolver." He got up and opened one of the drawers of the dressing-table. Beneath an assortment of ties lay a pile of biscuits. "There's nothing for it," said Jimmy. "I shall have to eat all the damned things. Ten to one, Pongo will come prowling round in the morning."