Since it was one of those silent nights of intense cold, he left his window open only a crack.
Late in the night he awoke with a feeling that a sudden draft of air had blown across his face.
“Wind’s coming up.” He shuddered with cold as he crept from his bed with the intention of shutting the window. Still not fully awake, he found himself bewildered by the facts that presented themselves to his mind. The wind had not risen. There was no draft. Yet the room was icy cold.
“As if the window had been wide open,” he thought.
Throwing up the shade, he looked out. At the back of the hotel was a narrow court and an alley. Down that alley a man was walking. He was tall and seemed rather gaunt.
“Probably some watchman been in for coffee,” he told himself.
Just then the man turned his head. He looked back and up. Then it seemed to the boy that he resisted with difficulty an impulse to bolt down the alley.
“Been into something,” Curlie decided. “None of my business, though.”
Having drawn the shade once more, he turned about and would have been under the covers in another ten seconds had not his bare foot come into contact with something soft and furry.
A surprised downward glance revealed a large mitten lying close to the window.