Now her ear practised in that house, could follow their movements very well. They were in the cellar. They took no precautions for silence. They came stamping up the cellar stairs, and were to be heard in the kitchen and the outer kitchen. They spread through the main rooms of the house. Pen smiled to herself, hearing them move heavy objects of furniture, looking for hiding-places in the walls. Finally they started up the main stairway, but were diverted into the rear extension. Doors were opened and shut, furniture pulled about. As they started to move back towards the front, Pen closed her door. "They're coming!" she breathed in Don's ear. "Now's the time!" She took him to the door leading to the rear room. "Lock this door behind you and put the key in your pocket." She pointed to an open window in the corner of the room facing the rear. "There's your way out. The ironing-board is on the floor under the window. Stretch it across catty-cornered to the sash of the bathroom window. I pulled down the top sash ready for you. As you go, turn and close this window behind you. When you get in the bath-room pull the board after you. Don't touch that window. It squeaks. Wait in the bath-room with the door open. If you hear anybody coming that way slip down the back stairs and into the cellar. While you're in the bathroom watch this window. When they're through with this room I'll raise the window and leave it up. That's your signal to come back." There was a peremptory knock on the door of Pen's room. The lovers pressed hands and parted. Slipping through the door, Don closed it noiselessly and turned the key. "What is it?" Pen asked. The voice of Delehanty brusquely replied: "Open the door, please." Pen wanted all the time she could gain. "Is my father there?" she asked as if in doubt. "Yes, my dear," said Pendleton quaveringly. "Please open." "One moment!" She turned down the covers of her bed, and rumpled them. Her ears were strained for sounds from the back, but she heard nothing. So much the better! "You've had plenty of time to dress!" said Delehanty harshly. She opened the door. There was a small crowd in the hall. One carried a brilliant acetylene lantern which filled the place with a strong white light and threw grotesque shadows upwards. All the detectives had their hats on; some were short, some tall. It was like a caricature in violent chiaroscuro. As for Pendleton, he had his pants pulled over his night-shirt and his bare feet looked piteous. A picture of ineffectiveness, he was still carrying a lighted candle in all that glare.