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of appearing absurd。 Little by little weariness numbed his apprehensions。
Two o'clock clanged and echoed from distant steeples。 He threw off his
clothes and crawled into bed。
It was ten o'clock on Sunday morning when he awoke。 A broad
swath of sunlight cut the room in half： the white muslin curtain at the
window rippled outward like a flag。 Aubrey exclaimed when he saw his
watch。 He had a sudden feeling of having been false to his trust。 What had
been happening across the way？
He gazed out at the bookshop。 Gissing Street was bright and demure
in the crisp quietness of the forenoon。 Mifflin's house showed no sign of
life。 It was as he had last seen it； save that broad green shades had been
drawn down inside the big front windows； making it impossible to look
through into the book…filled alcoves。
Aubrey put on his overcoat in lieu of a dressing gown； and went in
search of a bathtub。 He found the bathroom on his floor locked； with
sounds of leisurely splashing within。 〃Damn Mrs。 J。 F。 Smith；〃 he said。
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He was about to descend to the storey below； bashfully conscious of bare
feet and pyjamaed shins； but looking over the banisters he saw Mrs。
Schiller and the treasure…dog engaged in some household manoeuvres。 The
pug caught sight of his pyjama legs and began to yap。 Aubrey retreated in
the irritation of a man baulked of a cold tub。 He shaved and dressed
rapidly。
On his way downstairs he met Mrs。 Schiller。 He thought that her
gaze was disapproving。
〃A gentleman called to see you last night； sir；〃 she said。 〃He said he
was very sorry to miss you。〃
〃I was rather late in getting in；〃 said Aubrey。 〃Did he leave his
name？〃
〃No； he said he'd see you some other time。 He woke the whole house
up by falling downstairs；〃 she added sourly。
He left the lodging house swiftly； fearing to be seen from the bookshop。
He was very eager to learn if everything was all right； but he did not want
the Mifflins to know he was lodging just opposite。 Hastening diagonally
across the street； he found that the Milwaukee Lunch； where he had eaten
the night before； was open。 He went in and had breakfast； rejoicing in
grapefruit； ham and eggs； coffee； and doughnuts。 He lit a pipe and sat by
the window wondering what to do next。 〃It's damned perplexing；〃 he said
to himself。 〃I stand to lose either way。 If I don't do anything；
something may happen to the girl； if I butt in too soon I'll get in dutch with
her。 I wish I knew what Weintraub and that chef are up to。〃
The lunchroom was practically empty； and in two chairs near him the
proprietor and his assistant were sitting talking。 Aubrey was suddenly
struck by what they said。
〃Say； this here； now； bookseller guy must have struck it rich。〃
〃Who； Mifflin？〃
〃Yeh； did ya see that car in front of his place this morning？〃
〃No。〃
〃Believe me； some boat。〃
〃Musta hired it； hey？ Where'd he go at？〃
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〃I didn't see。 I just saw the bus standing front the door。〃
〃Say； did you see that swell dame he's got clerking for him？〃
〃I sure did。 What's he doing； taking her joy…riding？〃
〃Shouldn't wonder。 I wouldn't blame him〃
Aubrey gave no sign of having heard； but got up and left the
lunchroom。 Had the girl been kidnapped while he overslept？ He burned
with shame to think what a pitiful failure his knight…errantry had been。 His
first idea was to beard Weintraub and compel him to explain his
connection with the bookshop。 His next thought was to call up Mr。
Chapman and warn him of what had been going on。 Then he decided it
would be futile to do either of these before he really knew what had
happened。 He determined to get into the bookshop itself； and burst open
its sinister secret。
He walked hurriedly round to the rear alley； and surveyed the domestic
apartments of the shop。 Two windows in the second storey stood slightly
open； but he could discern no signs of life。 The back gate was still
unlocked； and he walked boldly into the yard。
The little enclosure was serene in the pale winter sunlight。 Along one
fence ran a line of bushes and perennials； their roots wrapped in straw。
The grass plot was lumpy； the sod withered to a tawny yellow and
granulated with a sprinkle of frost。 Below the kitchen doorwhich stood at
the head of a flight of steps was a little grape arbour with a rustic bench
where Roger used to smoke his pipe on summer evenings。 At the back of
this arbour was the cellar door。 Aubrey tried it； and found it locked。
He was in no mood to stick at trifles。 He was determined to unriddle
the mystery of the bookshop。 At the right of the door was a low window；
level with the brick pavement。 Through the dusty pane he could see it was
fastened only by a hook on the inside。 He thrust his heel through the
pane。 As the glass tinkled onto the cellar floor he heard a low growl。 He
unhooked the catch； lifted the frame of the broken window； and looked in。
There was Bock； with head quizzically tilted； uttering a rumbling guttural
vibration that seemed to proceed automatically from his interior。
Aubrey was a little dashed； but he said cheerily 〃Hullo； Bock！ Good
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old man！ Well； well； nice old fellow！〃 To his surprise； Bock recognized
him as a friend and wagged his tail slightly； but still continued to growl。
〃I wish dogs weren't such sticklers for form；〃 thought Aubrey。 〃Now if
I went in by the front door； Bock wouldn't say anything。 It's just because
he sees me coming in this way that he's annoyed。 Well； I'll have to take a
chance。〃
He thrust his legs in through the window； carefully holding up the sash
with its jagged triangles of glass。 It will never be known how severely
Bock was tempted by the extremities thus exposed to him； but he was an
old dog and his martial instincts had been undermined by years of
kindness。 Moreover； he remembered Aubrey perfectly well； and the
smell of his trousers did not seem at all hostile。 So he contented himself
with a small grumbling of protest。 He was an Irish terrier； but there was
nothing Sinn Fein about him。
Aubrey dropped to the floor； and patted the dog； thanking his good
fortune。 He glanced about the cellar as though expecting to find some
lurking horror。 Nothing more appalling than several cases of beer bottles
met his eyes。 He started quietly to go up the cellar stairs； and Bock；
evidently consumed with legitimate curiosity； kept at his heels。
〃Look here；〃 thought Aubrey。 〃I don't want the dog following me all
through the house。 If I touch anything he'll probably take a hunk out of
my shin。〃
He unlocked the door into the yard； and Bock obeying the Irish
terrier's natural impulse to get into the open air； ran outside。 Aubrey
quickly closed the door again。 Bock's face appeared at the broken
window； looking in with so quaint an expression of indignant surprise that
Aubrey almost laughed。 〃There； old man；〃 he said； 〃it's all right。 I'm
just going to look around a bit。〃
He ascended the stairs on tiptoe and found himself in the kitchen。 All
was quiet。 An alarm clock ticked with a stumbling； headlong hurry。 Pots
of geraniums stood on the window sill。 The range； with its lids off and
the fire carefully nourished； radiated a mild warmth。 Through a dark little
pantry he entered the dining room。 Still no sign of anything amiss。 A pot
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