The professor entered once more on the scene.

“This house will do very well for the common people,” he said, “but the Herr Commandant” (meaning Jan) “and the two ladies will come over to sleep with me.”

“No, we won’t,” said Jan, Jo and Miss Brindley in one voice.

“Then what will you do?”

“We will give you two policemen, or all four if you like.  We will pack in here somehow.  You can take the other house all to yourself.”

“That will not do,” said the professor.  “If you are all determined to sleep here, I too, will come here.  You will need somebody to protect you.”

Jo’s back went up.

“If you are afraid to sleep in the other house,” she said, “you can sleep here with us.  But if you are coming here to protect us, we don’t require you.”

“But you do not understand,” said the professor kindly, as if to a child:  “there is danger.  You will need me to protect you.”

“Not in the least,” answered Jo.  “If you will say that you are afraid, we will offer you our shelter.  Otherwise you can have all four policemen at the other house.”

The professor was afraid to say that he was afraid, so after stating that we were curious people, he went off with the guards.

With great difficulty we packed in.  Cutting and Whatmough were forced to climb on to the shelf and the brazier was pushed out of the room.  One by one we rolled up in our rugs, made pillows out of a pair of boots or a cocoa tin, cursed each other for taking up so much space, and at last all were jammed together like sardines.  It was like the family in the drawing:  If father says turn, we all turn.

We did not rest well.  Thirteen people in a room which would comfortably hold three was a little too close packing.  There was a lot of grumbling coming from one corner, and after a while a light was struck.

“Good lord,” said somebody, “my pillow’s crawling!”

Bugs were cascading down the walls.  Stajitch jumped to his feet, and began stamping hard.  “Rivers of them,” he yelled.

Cutting and Whatmough were groaning about the heat, so we opened the door.  Immediately all the dogs of the village, half wolves, hurled themselves at the lighted space.  Stajitch slammed it just in time; had they burst in, lying down as we were, we should have been unable to protect ourselves.

A dark face peered in between the baking oven and the wall, a swarthy Albanian face.  It looked at us and then silently withdrew.

“It doesn’t matter,” said somebody at last, “we’ve got to stick it.”

We roused up neither rested nor refreshed.  The room seen in the dim light of the morning seemed even more revolting than it had been the night before.  We demanded the bill, it was brought—­five francs for apples which we had bought.  And for the room?  Nothing.  We gave our host three francs extra, and he bowed, putting his hands to his bosom and kissed our palms.