Imagine his surprise when, upon setting foot on the bridge, he discovered light shining through the crack left by the closed shutters of his window.
“Waiting for me,” he muttered. “Wonder which of them it is? Well, let them wait,” he added fiercely, “I’m not so defenseless as I might seem.” He put a hand to his side pocket. A friendly policeman, finding Johnny unarmed as they searched the island, had pressed a small automatic upon him and had forgotten to take it back. Johnny was now thankful for the oversight.
Without a second’s hesitation, but keeping a sharp lookout that he might not be ambushed by some guard stationed outside, he crossed the bridge, dodged down a narrow alley and having reached the ground floor door that led to the back stairs, paused to listen.
Having heard no sound, he pushed open the door, closed it noiselessly behind him, then went tip-toeing softly up the steps. At the second landing he paused to listen, yet he heard no sound.
“That’s queer,” he whispered as he resumed his upward climb.
As he reached his own door he recalled an old copy-book axiom: “Delays are dangerous.” So, gripping his automatic with one hand, he turned the knob with the other and threw the door wide open.
Imagine his surprise at seeing a single figure slumped down in a chair, apparently fast asleep.
The person had his back to him. There was something vaguely familiar about that back. Slowly a smile of pleasant anticipation spread over Johnny’s face.
“If it only were,” he whispered.
Tip-toeing to a position which gave him a side view of the still motionless figure, he stared for a second, then there came upon his face an unmistakable smile as he exclaimed: