turbed by the thought that plans so carefully laid could be so gratuitously disrupted by a factor on which he had failed to count.
He moved towards the front of the house again, following the wall as he went, with his right hand close to his side, ready for action. He paused when he reached the hall, pondering what his next step should be.
Then he crouched back, with every muscle tense, for there came to his ear the sudden and distinct sound of a key being fitted into the door that opened from the street.
He had no time to turn and find a hiding place. The door had already opened and a figure was stepping in. Then the door was heard to close again, shutting out the sound of the beating rain.
As Kestner stood with his back to the wall and his revolver in his hand, he could detect a newer small odour, the odour of rainsoaked garments on a warm body. He knew that the man was standing there, not five paces from him, listening as intently as he himself was listening. He could hear the faint drip of the water from the wet coat. He could even catch the sound of the other's breathing. The next moment, too, he could hear the subdued movement of feet as that newcomer advanced deeper into the house. He could hear a sleeve-button as it tapped against the newel-post at the foot of the stairway, while a hand groped through the darkness for the banister.
Kestner could have reached out and touched the hesitating figure as it stood there. But he crouched back, ready for the worst, hoping against hope that
