R. Holmes Co. | Page 2

pianissimo lest he in turn
should observe mine, I watched him as he climbed. Up he came as
silently as the midnight mouse upon a soft carpet--up past the Jorkins

apartments on the second floor; up stealthily by the Tinkletons' abode
on the third; up past the fire-escape Italian garden of little Mrs.
Persimmon on the fourth; up past the windows of the disagreeable
Garraways' kitchen below mine, and then, with the easy grace of a
feline, zip! he silently landed within reach of my hand on my own little
iron veranda, and craning his neck to one side, peered in through the
open window and listened intently for two full minutes.
"Humph!" whispered my inner consciousness to itself. "He is the
coolest thing I've seen since last Christmas left town. I wonder what he
is up to? There's nothing in my apartment worth stealing, now that my
wife and children are away, unless it be my Jap valet, Nogi, who might
make a very excellent cab driver if I could only find words to convey to
his mind the idea that he is discharged."
And then the visitor, apparently having correctly assured himself that
there was no one within, stepped across the window sill and vanished
into the darkness of my kitchen. A moment later I too entered the
window in pursuit, not so close a one, however, as to acquaint him with
my proximity. I wanted to see what the chap was up to; and also being
totally unarmed and ignorant as to whether or not he carried dangerous
weapons, I determined to go slow for a little while. Moreover, the
situation was not wholly devoid of novelty, and it seemed to me that
here at last was abundant opportunity for a new sensation. As he had
entered, so did he walk cautiously along the narrow bowling alley that
serves for a hallway connecting my drawing-room and library with the
dining-room, until he came to the library, into which he disappeared.
This was not reassuring to me, because, to tell the truth, I value my
books more than I do my plate, and if I were to be robbed I should
much have preferred his taking my plated plate from the dining-room
than any one of my editions-deluxe sets of the works of Marie Corelli,
Hall Caine, and other standard authors from the library shelves. Once in
the library, he quietly drew the shades at the windows thereof to bar
possible intruding eyes from without, turned on the electric lights, and
proceeded to go through my papers as calmly and coolly as though they
were his own. In a short time, apparently, he found what he wanted in
the shape of a royalty statement recently received by me from my

publishers, and, lighting one of my cigars from a bundle of brevas in
front of him, took off his coat and sat down to peruse the statement of
my returns. Simple though it was, this act aroused the first feeling of
resentment in my breast, for the relations between the author and his
publishers are among the most sacred confidences of life, and the
peeping Tom who peers through a keyhole at the courtship of a young
man engaged in wooing his fiancée is no worse an intruder than he who
would tear aside the veil of secrecy which screens the official returns of
a "best seller" from the public eye. Feeling, therefore, that I had
permitted matters to proceed as far as they might with propriety, I
instantly entered the room and confronted my uninvited guest, bracing
myself, of course, for the defensive onslaught which I naturally
expected to sustain. But nothing of the sort occurred, for the intruder,
with a composure that was nothing short of marvelous under the
circumstances, instead of rising hurriedly like one caught in some
disreputable act, merely leaned farther back in the chair, took the cigar
from his mouth, and greeted me with:
"Howdy do, sir. What can I do for you this beastly hot night?"
The cold rim of a revolver-barrel placed at my temple could not more
effectually have put me out of business than this nonchalant reception.
Consequently I gasped out something about its being the sultriest 47th
of August in eighteen years, and plumped back into a chair opposite
him. "I wouldn't mind a Remsen cooler myself," he went on, "but the
fact is your butler is off for to-night, and I'm hanged if I can find a
lemon in the house. Maybe you'll join me in a smoke?" he added,
shoving my own bundle of brevas across the table. "Help yourself."
"I guess I know where the lemons are," said I. "But how did you know
my butler was out?"
"I telephoned him to go to Philadelphia this