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He was a man who slept well but lightly, and instantly he was asleep. Three hours later he was as instantly awake. He never drew his curtains at night. A full moon was shining in a cloudless sky, and though the rays did not fall upon the window there was sufficient reflected light in the chamber to enable him to see clearly what was happening. The leather door was slowly opening—inch by inch, noiselessly, steadily.

He waited, moving only to thrust his hand beneath his pillow and grip the butt of the automatic which he had planted there in preparation for some such contingency as this.

The door was now wide, and he expected every second to see the intruder pass into the room. Rising stealthily in bed and resting his elbow on his knee, he covered the edge of the door.

A minute passed, and there was no sound or sign of the intruder, and, throwing back the bedclothes, he leapt to the floor and ran out through the door, pistol in hand. The moon was streaming through the windows of the corridor, flooding the hall with light.