He already had one leg over, preparing to descend, when Desmond, with a sudden rush, dashed through the shrubs and sprang across the path. The confederate was stooping over the booty; his back was towards the shrubbery; at the snapping of twigs and the crunching of the gravel he straightened himself and turned. Before he was aware of what was happening, Desmond caught at the ladder by the lowest rung, and jerked it violently outwards so that its top fell several feet below the window-sill, resting on the wall out of reach of the man above. Desmond heard a smothered exclamation break from the fellow, but he could pay no further attention to him, for, as he rose from stooping over the ladder, he was set upon by a burly form. He dodged behind the ladder. The man sprang after him, blindly, clumsily, and tripped over the box. But he was up in a moment, and, reckless of the consequences of raising an alarm, was fumbling for a pistol, when there fell upon his ears a shout, the tramp of hurrying feet, and the sound of another window being thrown open. With a muffled curse he swung on his heel, and made to cross the gravel path and plunge into the shrubbery. But Desmond was too quick for him. Springing upon his back, he caught his arms, thus preventing him from using his pistol. He was a powerful man, and Desmond alone would have been no match for him; but before he could wriggle himself entirely free, three half-clad men-servants came up with a rush, and in a trice he was secured. In the excitement of these close-packed moments Desmond had forgotten the other man, whom he had last seen with his leg dangling over the window-sill. He looked up now; the window was still open; the ladder lay exactly where he had jerked it; evidently the robber had not descended. "Quick!" cried Desmond. "Round to the door! The other fellow will escape!" He himself sprinted round the front of the house to the door by which the servants had issued, and met the Squire hobbling along on his stick, pistol in hand. "We have got one, sir!" cried Desmond. "Have you seen the other?" "What--why--how many villains are there?" replied the Squire, who between amazement and wrath was scarcely able to appreciate the situation. "There was a man in the library; he did not come down the ladder; he may be still in the house." "The deuce he is! Desmond, take the pistol, and shoot the knave like a dog if you meet him." "I’ll guard the door, Sir Willoughby. They are bringing the other man round. Then we’ll all go into the house and search. He can’t get out without being seen if the other doors are locked." "Locked and barred. I did it myself an hour ago. I’ll hang the villain." In a few moments the servants came up with their captive and the box, old Dickon following. Only their figures could be seen: it was too dark to distinguish features.