Bitterly regretting that I had ever risked my best hat upon an adventure which seemed doomed to so tame an ending I withdrew myself from the open stoop and sought what scant shelter the outer ledge of the storm door afforded, flattening myself as much as possible and hoping devoutly that my ostrich tips would recurl nicely.
From below came the sound of a bell, another bell this time, but ringing in just as desolate a way as that of the front door. Again silence except for that wretched feline. Then came the sound of approaching footsteps. Some one was coming down the street!
The steps were not very loud to be sure, the newcomer being soft shod, and after a moment I realized that Peaches and Dicky, being intent upon their immediate occupation, and furthermore, cut off from this approach by being on the far side of the solid masonry of the high stoop, did not hear him. It flashed across my mind that policemen did not usually wear sneakers or rubber soles to their shoes, and that therefore this was not the roundsman of the beat. In confirmation of this supposition was the fact that whoever was approaching was in a hurry—not running, but coming on with a quick light step, very unlike the heavy deliberate tread of a night watchman wearing away the hours at his post.
Therefore I very cautiously stuck my head round the corner, only to withdraw it instantly and remain motionless, soundless, against the door. It was a man who was approaching, his arms filled with bundles such as would indicate a visit to some all-night grocery or, more likely, delicatessen store; and his enormous height made him unmistakable. It was Sandro.
All unknowing what awaited him, he ran lightly up the steps, glancing up and down the street as he did so. And as he reached the top step I fell upon him from the shadow, throwing both my arms round his neck and causing him to spill a half dozen oranges, which bounded down into the street and areaway—one of them, I later learned, striking Richard upon the head and thus giving him notice that he was wanted.
"Sandro!" I cried. "Thank goodness you came home—my hat would have been ruined in another five minutes!"
"Good Lord! Miss Talbot!" he stammered, making a futile effort to free himself of me.
But I hung on like a leech. I feared that if I relaxed my embrace for an instant he would make a dash for liberty.
"Oh, but I'm glad to see you!" I said. "Fear not, we know all, but are still your friends."
By that time Peaches and Dicky were with us. Seeing this I let him go, and for a moment he stood there looking dazedly from one to the other, a side of bacon sticking grotesquely out from under one arm, a bottle of milk held firmly in the other hand.