But nothing touched him.  No one seemed to be there.  His eyes got accustomed to the blackness and he was able to make out the iron railing, the dark shapes of the trees beyond, and the faint light coming from the other window.  Through this he peered into the room, walking the length of the balcony to do so.  Of course he was standing in a shaft of light and whoever was crouching in the darkness below could plainly see him. Below?—­That there should be anyone above did not occur to him until, just as he was preparing to go in again, he became aware that something was moving in the darkness over his head.  He looked up, instinctively raising a protecting arm, and saw a long black line swinging against the dim wall of the house.  The shutters of the window on the next floor, whence it depended, were thrown open and moving backwards and forwards in the wind.  The line was evidently a thickish cord, for as he looked it was pulled in and the end disappeared in the darkness.

Shorthouse, trying to whistle to himself, peered over the edge of the balcony as if calculating the distance he might have to drop, and then calmly walked into the room again and closed the window behind him, leaving the latch so that the lightest touch would cause it to fly open.  He relit the candle and drew a straight-backed chair up to the table.  Then he put coal on the fire and stirred it up into a royal blaze.  He would willingly have folded the shutters over those staring windows at his back.  But that was out of the question.  It would have been to cut off his way of escape.

Sleep, for the time, was at a disadvantage.  His brain was full of blood and every nerve was tingling.  He felt as if countless eyes were upon him and scores of stained hands were stretching out from the corners and crannies of the house to seize him.  Crouching figures, figures of hideous Jews, stood everywhere about him where shelter was, creeping forward out of the shadows when he was not looking and retreating swiftly and silently when he turned his head.  Wherever he looked, other eyes met his own, and though they melted away under his steady, confident gaze, he knew they would wax and draw in upon him the instant his glances weakened and his will wavered.

Though there were no sounds, he knew that in the well of the house there was movement going on, and preparation.  And this knowledge, inasmuch as it came to him irresistibly and through other and more subtle channels than those of the senses kept the sense of horror fresh in his blood and made him alert and awake.

But, no matter how great the dread in the heart, the power of sleep will eventually overcome it.  Exhausted nature is irresistible, and as the minutes wore on and midnight passed, he realised that nature was vigorously asserting herself and sleep was creeping upon him from the extremities.