He never budged, for he was too frightened. Suddenly the
light vanished and a head was dimly silhouetted in the window opposite.
It nodded to Pinton. Pinton stared stupidly, and the head disappeared.
The hungry man, his appetite now gone, was numb and terrified.
What did it mean, who was the man? A detective, or a friend of Mrs.
Hallam's in a coign from which the plunderers of her pantry could be
noted? Beady repentance stood out on Pinton's forehead.
And the light came back. This time it was intelligible, for it was a
lantern in the hand of a young man of about thirty. His face was open
and smiling. He wore his hair rather long for an American, and it was
blond and curling.
He surveyed Pinton for a moment, then he said, in a most agreeable
voice:--
"What luck, old pal?"
Pinton dropped his pies, slammed the window, and got to his bedroom as
fast as his nervous legs could carry him. He undressed in a nightmare,
and did not sleep until the early summer sun shot hot shafts of heat
into his chamber.
With a shamed Sabbath face he arose, dressed, and descended to his
morning meal.
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