The Wilmington morning star., 1940-07-20
ruApTER ~TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE q.
For the first time in his men,
ory Mr.. William Bailey was down.
right scared.
Bill was a young man with wnat
is known as a barrel chest. He had
an expansion range of three inches
or more, and he had shoulders to
match. His hips and legs, some
what narrow, were very muscular
too. These things had made him a
good halfback in college football,
and the intra-mural boxing he had
done made him have confidence in
his arms. Nevertheless, the mere
insistent clicle-click Of a key in a
lock all but unneryed him.
If there had oeen time to ana
lyze his emotions he would have
realized that his fear was not COW
ardice. He was not afraid of bodily
harm. Indeed, for a fleeing second
>he debated waiting in a crouch and
bouncing upon the intruder, who
ever it might be.
Then it occurred to him that this
might not be an intruder. He him.
self was an intruder in somebody
else's room, and that somebody
might be at the door now. He did
not wish to be caught.
When he discovered the only pos
sible place to hide, he went there
without realizing it was a slightly
ignominious thing to do, or was
conceivably even a comic retreat.
From somewhere in his conscious
ness he remembered that people
hid under beds on occasion. Bill
ducked under a bed now There
wasn't much room for him; he
lay on his back with his head to
one side, waiting. He was virtually
sure that his breathing or his
pumping heart could be heard all
over the building.
Whoever clicked the key soon
met with success. The door opened,
c%ausiously, and a form stepped in.
When the room light did not
come on, Bill worried anew. He
could hear sundry %rustlings. He
heard steps, as of tip-toeing, and
finally realized that the newcomer
was trying to operate without at
tracing attention, even as he had
done.
christopher! he was almost
thinking aloud. I'm in a pot"
While he lay there, motionless, a
great mass of events, mostly mag
mary, streamed through his con-
seriousness. It seemed that every
book and short story he had read
since childhood, and every screen
thriller he had seen, came back to
him in a rush. The boyish young
man was neck deep in adventure
himself now, and he quite thor
oughly realized that it wasn't vica-
rious, but was real.
He didn't know what to do.
He heard the other person rum
bling in the closet. and from his
cramped position he thought he
caught a faint flow of reflected
light. Some streaks of light had
stabbed into the room through the
poor window shade, and around its
edges, he remembered. But now
there seemed to be a different glow.
Unquestionably it came from a
flashlight, such as he himself had
used.
The person moved eventually
from the closet to the trunk, and
stayed there a long while, making
next to no noise and evidently do
ing a thorough searching job. Bill
realized at last that somebody was
following in his steps-searching
the DOR exactly as he had done.
Who, and why? were questions
which assailed him, along with
the major problem of what he
should do.
Hes bound to find me sooner or
later if I stay here" Bill told him
self, accurately. 'Lordy, 1 wish I
had a gun!"
A gun. Certainly people in such
situations always carried one, he
remembered from reading. There
would be dramatic Hands up!"
commands, and all that.
But no.. No, this wasn't fiction
stuff, this was the real Mccoy, Bill
knew, and shuddered as he lay
there. It was just as well he didn't
BEAA LANAN-C0URT RI