Aubrey shook his head dismally, and leaned his hot forehead against the pane.  Neither of them spoke again until they reached Manhattan Transfer, where they changed for the Hudson Terminal.

It was seven o’clock when they hurried out of the subway terminus at Atlantic Avenue.  It was a raw, damp evening, but the streets had already begun to bustle with their nightly exuberance of light and colour.  The yellow glitter of a pawnshop window reminded Aubrey of the small revolver in his pocket.  As they passed a dark alley, he stepped aside to load the weapon.

“Have you anything of this sort with you?” he said, showing it to Roger.

“Good Lord, no,” said the bookseller.  “What do you think I am, a moving-picture hero?”

Down Gissing Street the younger man set so rapid a pace that his companion had to trot to keep abreast.  The placid vista of the little street was reassuring.  Under the glowing effusion of the shop windows the pavement was a path of checkered brightness.  In Weintraub’s pharmacy they could see the pasty-faced assistant in his stained white coat serving a beaker of hot chocolate.  In the stationer’s shop people were looking over trays of Christmas cards.  In the Milwaukee Lunch Aubrey saw (and envied) a sturdy citizen peacefully dipping a doughnut into a cup of coffee.

“This all seems very unreal,” said Roger.

As they neared the bookshop, Aubrey’s heart gave a jerk of apprehension.  The blinds in the front windows had been drawn down.  A dull shining came through them, showing that the lights were turned on inside.  But why should the shades be lowered with closing time three hours away?

They reached the front door, and Aubrey was about to seize the handle when Roger halted him.

“Wait a moment,” he said.  “Let’s go in quietly.  There may be something queer going on.”

Aubrey turned the knob gently.  The door was locked.

Roger pulled out his latchkey and cautiously released the bolt.  Then he opened the door slightly—­about an inch.

“You’re taller than I am,” he whispered.  “Reach up and muffle the bell above the door while I open it.”

Aubrey thrust three fingers through the aperture and blocked the trigger of the gong.  Then Roger pushed the door wide, and they tiptoed in.

The shop was empty, and apparently normal.  They stood for an instant with pounding pulses.

From the back of the house came a clear voice, a little tremulous: 

“You can do what you like, I shan’t tell you where it is.  Mr. Mifflin said——­”

There followed the bang of a falling chair, and a sound of rapid movement.

Aubrey was down the aisle in a flash, followed by Roger, who had delayed just long enough to close the door.  He tiptoed up the steps at the back of the shop and looked into the dining room.  At the instant his eyes took in the scene it seemed as though the whole room was in motion.