"There's plate enough on that sideboard," continued the sergeant, "to have made a pretty good swag, if it ain't 'lectrer." "No, no, those are all silver. It is a presentation set." "Then we're in time," whispered the sergeant. "I expect the servants are in it." A terrible dread was oppressing Artingale, but he did not speak, only followed the sergeant as he tried the breakfast-room door, to find it fast and the key outside; the library the same. "All right there," he said softly. "Joe, here. Stand inside and keep your eye on the staircase; we're going below." The constable at the entrance obeyed his orders, and softly opening a glass door, the sergeant, who seemed quite at home in the geography of the place, led the way down a flight of well-whitened stone steps to the basement, the bright light of his lantern playing upon a long row of bells, and then upon a broad stone passage and several doors. "Butler's pantry," he whispered, after a good look round. "You stop here, sir." Artingale stopped short, guarding the foot of the steps, and the sergeant tried the door, to find it fast, but as the handle rattled a man's voice exclaimed, "Who's there?" "Police! Open quickly." There was a scuffling noise, then the striking of a match, and a light shone out from three panes of glass above the door. The hurried sound of some one putting on some clothes, and then a peculiar monitory _click-click_! "Mind what you're at with that pistol," said the sergeant gruffly. "I tell you it's the police. Open the door." "How do I know it's the police?" said the butler firmly. "Come and see then, stupid." "Open the door, Thompson," said Artingale. "I'm here too." "Oh, is it you, my lord?" said the butler, and he unlocked the door, to be seen in his shirt and trousers, with a cocked pistol in his hand. "I've got the plate here, my lord, and I did not know but what it was a trick. For God's sake, my lord, what's the matter?" "Don't know yet," said the sergeant. "But the plate's right, you say?" "Yes; all but the things in the dining-room." "They're safe too. We found the front door open. Now then, who sleeps down here?" "Under-butler, footman, and page," said the butler quickly; and taking a chamber candlestick, he led the way to a smaller pantry where the light showed a red-faced boy fast asleep with his mouth open. "Where are the men?" said the sergeant laconically; and the butler led the way to a closed door, which opened into a long stone-paved hall, in the two recesses of which were a couple of turned-up bedsteads, in each of which was a sleeping man, one of whom jumped up, however, as the light fell upon his eyes. "Get up, James," said the butler. "Have either of you fellows been up to any games?" "No, sir. We came to bed before you," was the reply. "You'd better get up," said the butler. Then following the sergeant the basement was searched, and they reascended to the hall.