His ejaculation died like the diminishing wail of a retreating fire siren. That was because the duration of the monosyllabic diphthong exceeded the time necessary for Peter to gain the security of the bedroom where he donned his trousers and wished there were something he could do to cover the blush of embarrassment on his face. His ears especially.

Through the door he heard the stranger say: "Please come in, Miss Willson. Peter's condition is but temporary."

"But why ... what ... and who are you?"

"That's a long story," replied the stranger. He turned and called out to Peter. "I told you you'd not call the police!"

"Police!" exclaimed Joan. "Peter, is ... is—?"

"Not at all," said the stranger, interrupting her and intercepting the words which had been intended for Peter. "I've had too little time to make explanation. I'm Joseph Hedgerly."

"Relative of his?" asked Joan.

"Quite. And quite close."

Peter called: "Never heard of you."

"You will," replied Hedgerly. "You see, Peter, I'm here to help you."

"And if I need no help?"

"You do."

"Let me be judge, huh?" snapped Peter.

"You're in poor position to judge. That's why this help is thrust upon you, so to speak. After a bit you'll understand."

"Thanks," said Peter. Slowly he came into the living room again and faced Joan, still flushed.

"Honest, Joan," he started, but the girl shrugged. "Don't apologize for a sheer accident," she said.

"It was no accident," said Hedgerly.

Peter whirled. "Look, chaperone, who invited you in? As for any relation of mine? Are you?"

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