Wilkins, in his official black, was a wonderfully self-contained person; roused from slumber in pink-rosed silk, his self-control was not so perfect, for as he struggled out of bed again Johnson Boller caught: "God bless my soul, officer! What----" "Hush!" interrupted an unfamiliar, horrified voice. "Come inside quickly and close that door." Anthony was in motion, too. Johnson Boller, stumbling out of his Circassian apartment, met him just entering the living-room from his own chamber, and for an instant they stared at one another as they knotted bathrobe cords about them. "You see?" Johnson Boller said, with acid triumph. "I was right, eh?" "What?" "The cops have tracked the little devil down for his last job, whatever that may have been, and they've found him _here_! Now you've got a nice scandal on your hands, haven't you? A tenth-rate kid crook found hiding in the flat of Mr. Anthony Fry, with the full knowledge and consent of----" "Upon my word, Johnson, I think you've lost your senses to-night!" Anthony snapped. "Whatever is wrong, Wilkins?" The silk-pajamaed one indicated their visitors with a hand that was none too steady. "It's Mr. Dodbury, the night manager, sir, and this policeman that says----" "I'm afraid you have a burglar in here, Mr. Fry," the manager put in agitatedly. "I can't understand how it occurred; nothing of the kind has ever happened to us before, and the mouth of that alley is constantly under the eye of the firemen on that side of the boiler-room. Moreover, there is a high gate from the street and I cannot believe that any one----" The burly officer halted him. "Well, however he got there, he was on the fire-escape and coming down when I see him from the street," he said energetically. "When he seen me he turned into this north window and closed it after him, and my partner'd have given me the whistle if he'd come out again. Which room will it be, now?" Wilkins glanced significantly at his master. "If it's the north room on the fire-escape, sir, it must be the room young Mr. Prentiss has to-night." "And the burglar is supposed to have gone in there?" Anthony said calmly. "He ain't supposed--he went. I seen him!" stated the law. "And the longer we stand here and talk about it, the more chance he has to kill whoever's in there!" "Well, as it happens, he isn't killing any one, because he isn't there," Mr. Fry said patiently and with just a touch of contempt. "Any one entering that room must have wakened Mr. Prentiss, and he certainly hasn't called for help. For that matter, I should have heard the window myself, because I sleep very lightly. Nevertheless, if you wish, we will go in there." Impressively dignified even in his bathrobe, Anthony led the way down the side corridor, with the four trailing after him. They came to the door, and the officer pushed forward, club raised grimly over his right shoulder as he laid his left hand on the knob. "Where's the light-switch in there?" he whispered.