As he neared his house he slowed his pace a little until a couple, who were passing in front of it, had gone on; then he went up the steps, but noiselessly as a shadow now, to the front door, opened it softly, closed it softly behind him, and crouched for a moment in the vestibule.
Through the monogrammed lace on the plate glass of the inner doors he could see, a little indistinctly, into the reception hall beyond.

The hall was empty.

Jason, for that matter, would be the only one likely to be about; the other servants would have no business there in any case, and whether in their quarters above or below, they had their own stairs at the rear.
Jimmie Dale inserted the key in the spring lock, and opened the door a cautious fraction of an inch--to listen.

There was no sound--yes, a subdued murmured--the servants were downstairs in the basement.

He slipped inside, slipped, in a flash, across the hall, and, treading like a cat, went up the stairs.