Extinguishing the light, he opened the door and listened. There was no sound, and, creeping down the stairs, he passed silently into The Study. Mr. Superbus was breathing regularly--the window rattled a little; the floor vibrated; but no other ill effects followed. As Gordon stood listening, the detective grunted and turned over on his side. The snores ceased--Julius was in a deeper sleep than ever. Now was his chance; yet he had not taken a step before he halted. A circle of light had appeared at the window. He waited, holding his breath. There was a rasping sound, and the casement opened. He saw the dark bulk of a figure wriggle through. A long pause, in which the newcomer was invisible, then the circle of light appeared again. This time on the safe. A burglar! His first impulse was to leap at the man and grapple with him. His second was to approach with less commotion.... “Hands up, or I’ll fire!” At the first sibilant of the words, the light went out, and then: “Don’t shoot, guv’nor. It’s a cop!” “Don’t shout, you fool!” hissed Gordon. “There’s a man sleeping in the room--where’s your gun?” “Don’t carry a gun.” “What are you doing here?” The unknown burglar’s impatient click of lips was certainly called for. “Don’t ask silly questions--I said it was a cop, didn’t I?” Gordon groped for the flash-lamp and turned it full on the man’s face. “I know you,” he said immediately. The thin lips parted in a grin. “You ’ave the advantage of me,” he said with mordant humour. “You are the man who was cleaning the windows yesterday morning?” The burglar nodded. “Got me first time. Stark’s my name--I’m not giving any trouble, and if you tell the judge I had a gun you’re a liar.” He raised his voice a little. Gordon glanced round fearfully, but the detective was snoring again. “Ssh! Not so loud. Have you opened the safe?” The idea came to him at that second: a brain flash of singular brilliance. “I should have done if you’d been a minute later,” said Stark plaintively. “You’ve spoilt a good night’s work.” Gordon nodded. “Open it,” he said, and Stark could not believe his ears. “What!” “Open it. I’ll pay you well--and I’ll give you your liberty. You’ll only have to work on one lock--the combination is ‘Telma’--got that?” “Do you mean it, guv’nor?” incredulity dominant. “Yes, yes. I lost my key,” replied Gordon. “Now get to work--can you manage without the lights?” The other grinned in the darkness. “Sure. Only amatchoors want a lot of light. A flash is best--and brightest.” He produced from under his coat a short jemmy and a longer and thinner instrument. He may have been, and was, a poor window-cleaner. As burglar he belonged to the aristocracy. “Ever seen a safe opened before?” he asked over his shoulder. Gordon shook his head. “No--not this way,” he admitted.