As he stood at the gate, looking up the wide path which ran straightly to the shallow steps of the porch through a short avenue of elms in full leaf, he became aware that some one was coming out of the front door. The constable put it to himself in this way, as he heard the sound of opening and shutting, but no stream of light, as he expected, poured from the hall. With such darkness there could scarcely be a party in progress. Also--as Mulligan's quick ears detected--the door was opened with unusual caution and closed with equal care. The person who had emerged--whether it was a man or a woman the policeman could not guess--hesitated on the steps for a few minutes. Apparently the officer's form bulked blackly against the light of the opposite street-lamp, and the stranger was undecided whether to re-enter the house, or to come down the path. Mulligan was too dense to be suspicious, and merely wondered why the person in question did not fulfil his or her original intention. Meanwhile the song flowed an smoothly, and Mulligan half unconsciously noted that although the words were sung slowly, the piano music between each verse was played hurriedly. Finally, thinking that the stranger on the steps would not approve of a policeman leaning on the gate, Mulligan turned away with the airy grace of an elephant. Hardly had he taken a few steps when a young man came quickly down the path with a light, springy step. In a pleasant tenor voice he called to the constable. "Anything wrong, officer?" he asked, and the gate clicked behind him as he uttered the words. Mulligan, halting under a street-lamp, saluted good-humouredly. "No, sir," he declared. "I was just listening to your good lady singing." "My sister," corrected the man, also pausing under the lamp, but in such a position that the light did not reveal his countenance. "You ought to like that song, constable." "An' for why, sir?" "It's Irish, as you are." "Augh! An' is it me, sir, you'd be calling Irish?" "The way in which you turn that sentence would stamp your nationality, even if the brogue didn't," retorted the young man, taking out a silver cigarette-case. "You smoke, officer?" "Mostly a pipe, sir," rejoined Mulligan, accepting the little roll of tobacco. "Is it a light you'll be wanting?"