“I wish this stool-pigeon moon wasn’t so bright to-night, kid,” said Smiler as we waited in the shrubbery for our people to put out lights and retire. At eleven o’clock the house was in darkness. “About three hours more, kid, and we’ll get busy.” We had been in the yard since nine o’clock, tense, watching, listening. Six hours lying on the damp grass and wet from the heavy dew. And still the burglar wonders how he catches those terrible colds that hang on and on and finally develop into T.B. It was agreed that I should stay outside and lend a hand in case anything went wrong in the house with Smiler. Inside the house, inexperienced as I was, I would be in the way. Smiler looked at his watch for the hundredth time. He removed his shoes, putting one in each hip pocket as far as it would go, buttoned his coat tightly, and pulled his hat far down over his eyes. Always clean, handsome, smiling, he wasn’t good to look at now. We stepped toward the house, keeping out of the moonlight when possible. On the rear porch Smiler tried the door and windows—all fastened. He motioned me to stay where I was, and disappeared around the side of the house in search of an unlatched window. No burglar uses force till he is sure there is no window or door unfastened. He was gone so long that I was getting worried when he silently appeared from the other side; he had gone around the house. I left the porch and joined him beside a window he had found unfastened. He pointed to some vines near by, where I took my stand to wait till he rejoined me. I watched him intently, a pupil, apt at learning. The bottom of the window was about even with his shoulder. He stood with arms upraised, hands against the window sash, slowly, silently pushing it up. I listened, but he made no sound. The night was calm, still, dead. Then came a blinding flash of fire and the deadly roar of a rifle. Broken glass, falling, tinkled, and a woman shrieked once hysterically. My eyes had never left Smiler. He staggered back from the window clutching his throat with both hands; his legs trembled like a spent fighter’s, as he sank slowly to his knees. For a moment I shrank with fear and shock, cold and helpless, into the vines beside the house. The flash and deafening explosion coming out of the still night when my nerves were at their highest tension petrified me on the spot. Then my legs ran away with me and I found myself at the back gate to the alley, the way we came in, fumbling at the latch. My mind was clearing up now. The gate was open. I was wondering whether to run up or down the alley, into the city or out of it. I expected to hear more shots. Then I thought of Smiler, and looked back. He was there in front of the window in the moonlight, on his hands and knees now, shaking his head from side to side slowly. There was no alarm yet. The night was calm and still again. There was the smell of burnt powder in the air.