THE WRONG HOUSE 
The night was dark. And the house was dark. Dark-and silent. The two men ran toward
it quietly. They slipped quickly through the dark bushes which surrounded the house. They reached the porch, ran
quickly up the steps, kneeled down, breathing heavily, in the dark shadows. They waited-listening. Silence. Perfect
silence. Then-out of the blackness-a whisper: "We can't stay out here...Take this suitcase... Let me try those
keys. We've got to get in!" Ten-twenty-thirty seconds. With one of the keys the one man opened the door. Silently,
the two men have entered the house, closed the door behind them. Locked it. Whispering, they discussed the situation.
They wondered if they had awakened anyone in the house. "Let's have a look at this place." "Careful,
Hasty!" "Oh, there isn't anybody awake!" And the soft rays of a flashlight swept the room. It was
a large room. A living room. Rugs, carefully rolled, lay piled on one side. The furniture-chairs, tables, couches-was
covered by sheets. Dust lay like a light snow over everything.
