The seriousness in his voice brought Sandy to a sitting position. “O.K. Get some coffee going. I’ll be down before it’s ready.”
Ten minutes later, while the coffee percolator bubbled away unnoticed, Ken completed his story.
“Well,” he said after a moment, “what do you think? Were we almost burglarized—or weren’t we?”
Sandy set his empty orange-juice glass on the table. He was grinning widely. “I think,” he said, “you were asleep last night half a minute after I was. The whole thing was a dream. You should give up cheese sandwiches.”
Ken pointed to the rear door. “I didn’t dream the chain into place there. Or on the front door, either.”
Sandy shrugged. “Maybe you walked in your sleep.” But he got to his feet. “All right. Let’s go see these alleged footsteps on the front porch.”
They walked through the hall together. Sandy unfastened the chain, unlocked the door, and threw it wide open. The white sweep of snow over the porch was unmarked.
“I could have told you they wouldn’t show any more,” Ken pointed out. “It was still snowing then. Naturally they got covered up.”
Sandy was still smiling as he bent down to examine the outer face of the lock. When he straightened again he looked sober.
“Take a look,” he said quietly. “Those little scratches on the face plate were never made by keys. I’d say somebody’s been using a picklock in the dark.”