We fell silent. Alan would be at the gate of Turber's by now. But what reliance could we place upon that boy Charlie's word for what he would do? Perhaps he had no key to the tennis court gate at all. Or even if he had, he would forget to come. Or Turber would see him and stop him. Or worse, follow him and trap Alan. A thousand doubts and fears for Alan's safety rose to beset me. Ten thirty. Eleven o'clock. What was Alan doing now? But I told myself: "This is 1945--not the dark ages of the past. This is civilized New York." If Turber caught Alan prowling on the premises, what of it? He wouldn't dare murder Alan. Or would he? Waiting is a difficult thing to do. The mind grows too active. I began to think that Alan wasn't coming back. Nanette crept against me in the darkness. "Ed, what time is it?" "Nearly midnight." "Ed, I'm so frightened--" I began to plan what I would do. Wait here until midnight, or one o'clock perhaps. Then drive up to Turber's and boldly ask for Alan. At worst, they would have caught him--arrested him as a marauder. I set my teeth. Why, before morning, if I couldn't locate Alan I'd have all the police of Staten Island up at Turber's looking for him! "Don't be frightened, Nanette--he'll be back presently." No one had passed along this road; we seemed wholly secluded. The sky remained overcast; there was not a star showing; off in the distance lightning had flared for a time and we heard the distant thunder, but the storm had now receded. There had been a cool wind, but it died. The night was black and dark. Breathless. And I think it was my apprehension, too, that made me breathless. I sat, with Nanette huddled against me; and stared, straining my eyes in the darkness for Alan's coming. Midnight passed. From the roof of the Turber Hospital the searchlight beam abruptly flashed into the sky! It hung motionless. I told Nanette. "What does it mean? What could--" "I don't know." We sat tense, every faculty alert. Nanette, with sharpened fancy and a hearing always keener than normal, cried out suddenly: "There was a shot! Listen! There's another!" I seemed, myself, to hear the sound of distant shots. At Turber's? "An automobile tire blowing out," I said. "Or a car back-firing." But she insisted: "I thought I heard screams--some one screaming--" "Nonsense!" Another interval. The searchlight off there hung steady. "Ed, what is that? Don't you hear?" I heard nothing; but Nanette did, quite evidently. "Someone coming! Can't you hear them?" Then I heard it. Running, approaching footsteps, clattering faintly in the darkness on the stony road! * * * * *