It was Mr. Barton, and I could not but admire the
composure with which he passed the two detectives. But suddenly his
glance fell on Thorndyke, and his composure vanished. With a wild stare
of incredulous horror, he halted as if petrified; then he broke away and
raced furiously down the stairs, and a moment later a muffled shout and
the sound of a scuffle told us that he had received a check. On the next
flight we met two more men, who, more hurried and less self-possessed,
endeavoured to push past; but the sergeant barred the way.
"Why, bless me!" exclaimed the latter, "it's Moakey; and isn't that Tom
Harris?"
"It's all right, sergeant," said Moakey plaintively, striving to escape
from the officer's grip. "We've come to the wrong house, that's all."
The sergeant smiled indulgently. "I know," he replied. "But you're
always coming to the wrong house, Moakey; and now you're just coming
along with me to the right house."
He slipped his hand inside his captive's coat, and adroitly fished out a
large, folding jemmy; whereupon the discomforted burglar abandoned all
further protest.
On our return to the first-floor, we found Mr.
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