As he heard someone working a jimmy or other springing implement on his door, very quietly, though, he slipped into the hall with as little noise as the hinges of the door allowed. It was hardly likely that the slight squeaks were audible down the hall.
He saw a man, bent low, his back fortunately turned that way, as he tried to snap open the lock without much noise, perhaps trusting that Roger slept soundly and would not awaken.
Like a wraith slipping without sound along a haunted hallway, Roger got to the stairway. Its noise must be risked. He trod close to the wall side, stepping two lifts down to avoid a known faulty stair.
It required nice psychological deduction to enable him to use his trap, if the fuse was available. The marauder, or worse, must be in the room, and as Roger hoped, he would probably have shut the door to muffle any commotion from getting to other possibly occupied rooms.
Once in, the person would see he was not in bed, and had not been, and would either take a moment to discover if he hid, or would pause to consider; he must have been watching, must have seen Roger arrive.
The fuse, when he snapped on a cellar bulb in the garage, was on a ledge under the switch box. Was it too soon, Roger wondered, to screw it into the tiny receptacle?
He must not wait too long. His absence once assured, suspicion and fear would drive out the one who was now his quarry.
He must risk it at once.
He screwed home the small 15-ampere fuse.
With hopeful heart and padding feet he ran up the cellar steps, up the next flight, and paused to take observations.