It was locked.

With my hand on the door-knob, I turned to Sperry. He was struggling
violently with a dark figure, and even as I turned they went over with a
crash and rolled together down the steps. Only one of them rose.

I was terrified. I confess it. It was impossible to see whether it
was Sperry or his assailant. If it was Sperry who lay in a heap on the
ground, I felt that I was lost. I could not escape. The way was blocked,
and behind me the door, to which I now turned frantically, was a barrier
I could not move.

Then, out of the darkness behind me, came Sperry's familiar, booming
bass. "I've knocked him out, I'm afraid. Got a match, Horace?"

Much shaken, I went down the steps and gave Sperry a wooden toothpick,
under the impression that it was a match. That rectified, we bent over
the figure on the bricks.

"Knocked out, for sure," said Sperry, "but I think it's not serious. A
watchman, I suppose. Poor devil, we'll have to get him into the house."

The lock gave way to manipulation at last, and the door swung open.
There came to us the heavy odor of all closed houses, a combination
of carpets, cooked food, and floor wax. My nerves, now taxed to their
utmost, fairly shrank from it, but Sperry was cool.

He bore the brunt of the weight as we carried the watchman in, holding
him with his arms dangling, helpless and rather pathetic. Sperry glanced
around.

"Into the kitchen," he said. "We can lock him in."

We had hardly laid him on the floor when I heard the slow stride of the
officer of the beat. He had turned into the paved alley-way, and was
advancing with measured, ponderous steps. Fortunately I am an agile man,
and thus I was able to get to the outer door, reverse the key and turn
it from the inside, before I heard him hailing the watchman.

"Hello there!" he called. "George, I say! George!"

He listened for a moment, then came up and tried the door. I crouched
inside, as guilty as the veriest house-breaker in the business. But he
had no suspicion, clearly, for he turned and went away, whistling as he
went.

Not until we heard him going down the street again, absently running his
night-stick along the fence palings, did Sperry or I move.

"A narrow squeak, that," I said, mopping my face.

"A miss is as good as a mile," he observed, and there was a sort of
exultation in his voice. He is a born adventurer.

He came out into the passage and quickly locked the door behind him.

"Now, friend H