The other ran, as if something about Sig had suddenly frightened him so that he just wanted to get away. They crossed the hall, ran through the dark rooms. In the dining room Sig ran straight into a chair that Ras had pushed out in his path. He fell, and when he got to his feet again some of the anger was gone. But he still kept on. When he reached the kitchen Ras was already at the window, trying to get that stubborn pane up farther.

Sig sprang and caught handfuls of jacket near the other’s shoulders.

“No you don’t!” He tried to pull Ras back, though the boy held fast to the windowsill.

Then, outside, there was a vivid stroke of lightning, as startling as if it had struck the old house. Ras let go his hold, frightened by that flash in his very face. Sig staggered back from the window, pulling him along.

Ras jerked and pulled, wriggling free of Sig’s hold. But, as if he had been confused by the lightning, he now headed not back to the window but across the kitchen to the basement door. And he was gone through that before Sig could move.

Sig sat up. When Ras had pulled free he had overbalanced and landed on the floor. The door banged shut behind Ras. Sig looked around the kitchen. He had to get the box and pick up all those pieces Ras had dropped on the table and floor. But if he left the kitchen Ras could get out and go and tell—or else he would start fighting again for the box.

Sig got to his feet, sore in all those places which had hit the chair in the dining room. He limped to the table and began to push it across the dusty floor. It was big and heavy and hard to move, but at last he got it jammed against the basement door. Now Ras could just stay down there until he, Sig, was ready to let him out. And he would make him promise some things first.

Dimly Sig felt odd, as if this were not he, Sig Dortmund, who made such plans or did such things. As if something else or someone else had gotten into his body. But that was silly—it could not happen. No, he was Sig Dortmund, and he was going to get his box. It was his box! Then he would settle with Ras.

He went back to the other room. His flashlight, still turned on, had rolled back against the wall, the light a path across the floor. Sparkling in that light were a lot of the jigsaw pieces. The box lay on its side where the rest of the pieces had spilled out. Sig caught it up hurriedly to make sure it was not broken. If Ras had hurt it any—!