"No, no, please!" pleaded the Professor. "There might be others around. I'll go back to my room in the dark."
"First of all you'll explain why you're here."
In the darkness his five-feet-four was not dwarfed by the extra foot or so of the Professor, and the smaller man was in his own room and had himself under better control.
"I'm afraid you'll—you'll laugh at me, Mr. Stamford. I have my—ah—little fancies. We all have. I suppose I'm more sensitive to ridicule."
"There's a good deal more of you to be sensitive," Stamford sneered.
"Perhaps that's it. Would it be—ah—too much to beg of you not to insist? You don't suspect me of intentions on your purse, I suppose. As a matter of fact"—he giggled in a silly way—"I was on my way to the furthest corner under your bed when you came in."
"Considering the fact that I found you in my room in the dark when you are supposed to be in bed," persisted Stamford, "you'll agree that not insisting is little likely to dismiss the affair."
The Professor cleared his throat gently.
"I throw myself on your mercy, Mr. Stamford. I don't believe you'll betray me. When a lad of eight my home was burnt down. My little dog, Tony, and a pet kitten went with it. It was terrible to me. The fear of fire has clung to me ever since. At home I always sleep downstairs. When I travel I carry a rope ladder. If you look you will see it dangling now from my window."
"Yes," said Stamford drily, "I did notice it."