‘I don’t think I could go to bed,’ said Viola, shuddering. ‘There may be more burglars about the house. I feel as if it was swarming with them, like the beetles Mills talks about in the kitchen.’ ‘Nonsense, child! The fellow has no companions. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to see my sister as far as the end of the corridor, Lewis?’ ‘Oh no,’ cried Viola, quickly. ‘Indeed, I’m not frightened. I don’t want any escort;’ and she ran upstairs so fast that Sir Lewis lost his opportunity of saying something sweet at the end of the corridor. His devotion to the pretty Miss Bellingham was notorious, and Viola apprehended some soft speech, perhaps a gentle pressure of her hand, a fervid assurance that no peril should come near her while he watched beneath that roof. And the portionless daughter of Sir Nugent Bellingham was not wise enough in her generation to encourage this wealthy young baronet. ‘Now, you sir, go in there!’ said Churchill, pushing the gipsy into his study. ‘You needn’t wait, Lewis. I can tackle this fellow single-handed.’ ‘No! I can’t let you do that. He may have a knife about him.’ ‘If he has I don’t think he’ll try it upon me. I brought this from my dressing-room just now.’ He pointed to the butt-end of a revolver lurking in the breast-pocket of his smoking coat. ‘Well, I’ll smoke a cigar in the billiard-room while you hold your parley with him. I shall be within call.’ Sir Lewis retired to enjoy his cigar, and Churchill went into his study. He found that the burglar had availed himself of this momentary delay, and was beginning to unfasten the shutters. ‘What? You’d like to get out that way,’ said the Squire. ‘Not till you and I have had our talk together. Let go that shutter, if you please, while I light the lamp.’ He struck a wax match and lighted a shaded reading lamp that stood on the table. ‘Now,’ he said, calmly, ‘be good enough to sit down in that chair while I overhaul your pockets.’ ‘There’s nothing in my pockets,’ growled Paul, prepared for his resistance. ‘Isn’t there? Then you can’t object to have them emptied. You’d better not be needlessly objective. I’ve an argument here that you’ll hardly resist,’ showing the pistol, ‘and my friend who grappled you just now is ready to stand by me.’ The man made no further resistance. Churchill turned out the greasy linings of his pockets, but produced nothing except loose shreds of tobacco and various scraps of rubbish. He felt inside the vagabond’s loose shirt, thinking that he might have hidden his booty in his bosom, but with no result. A cunning smile curled the corners of the scoundrel’s lips, a smile that told Churchill to persist in his search. ‘Come,’ he said, ‘you’ve some of my wife’s diamonds about you. I saw the case open, and half empty. You were not in that room for nothing. You shall strip to your skin, my man. But first, off with that neckerchief of yours.’