Ahead of the engine a red lantern bobbed along beside the track, close to the ground. Still farther ahead another red light, apparently suspended in mid air, winked through the mist. He could hear raised voices in the smoking car behind him, and several men came out on the platform, talking excitedly. Minutes passed and then, to Peter's infinite satisfaction, in a breath, the light against the foggy sky changed from red to green. "Thank God," said Peter, as, with the successive jerk of couplings, the train moved slowly ahead. Peter regained his seat in an anxious frame of mind. He had reached a point in his intricate problem where his impatient spirit could brook no further delay. The train did not again come to a complete standstill, but its progress through the fog was agonizingly slow. Many times he looked at his watch, many times he shaded the glass of the window to peer outside. The fog had changed to heavy mist, and it became more and more difficult to form any idea as to where they were. And then, when it seemed as if time had ceased, and that a lost train was wandering wearily through the fogs of the ages, a big arc light flashed through the window--another, and another. Lighted windows were all about. The train roared and rumbled into a cut, and Peter, with a sigh of relief, realized that he was near his journey's end. He was the first person to alight from the train when it clanked and hissed into the station. He stood on the forward deck of the ferry boat, and impatiently watched the slowly nearing lights of the great, dim city, wherein all his hopes were centred. He was the first passenger to reach the rough block pavement of its streets, and in a moment he was whirling through them as fast as, and perhaps faster than, the traffic laws permit. He dismissed his cab at a dark corner of Washington Square, and once more, a little before midnight, in a dripping mist, Peter crept along the south side of Waverly Place. His soft whistle, twice repeated, brought the faithful Rawlins from the shelter of a doorway. "Is it yourself, back again so soon, Mr. Clancy?" he asked, superfluously. "And have you come to tell me that I can go home and to bed this cheerful night, please God?" Peter ignored the question. "I'm in a hurry, Rawlins," he said, quickly. "Is the coast clear? I want to go up to the apartment again." "You can chase yourself right along then," said Rawlins, promptly. "I seen the dago go out half an hour ago, and he hasn't come back yet. If you hustle----" Peter did not wait to hear more. He slipped across through the mist and up the worn brown steps. He found the vestibule door open. The inner door was closed but not locked. He was in time.